It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. "Is your father alive?" "No," returned Thames; "he was assassinated while I was an infant. “You are mistaken, David. It was she! The Dawn Pearl! He vaulted the veranda rail, careless now whether or not he was heard, and ran down to the beach. Breakfast, too, was an impossible occasion.
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