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. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. But at last this ordeal was over, and Ramage opened the door. A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin.
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