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” She took a step. Or, better still, put all my clothes in the trunk. ” Ennison dropped the evening paper which he had been pretending to read. The morning swims in the lagoon had thickened the red corpuscle. People shrug their shoulders and call me a crazy socialist. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside.
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