” “How the hell did you learn to play like that?” “Lots of practice, John. Sheila had dropped glaring hints that she knew, which Chuck tacitly acknowledged with a lowered gaze. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found.
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