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She was dead. Her death had been the darkest passage in his life in Africa but the flute-like music of her voice seemed to come on his ear now. This girl-soldier had little charm for him after the sweet, silent, tender grace of his lost Zelme. He turned and touched on the shoulder a Chasseur who had paused a moment to get breath in the headlong whirl: "Come, we are to be with the Djied by dawn!"
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