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The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. “It looks all right,” said Capes. Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder. Visible underneath his collar were some metal tags. But there was a face pressed to the glass. On their left the river, with its gloomy pile of buildings on the opposite side, and a huge revolving advertisement throwing its strange reflection upon the black water. The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. ‘I knew I should find you still here.
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