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Wood, you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. " CHAPTER IX. ‘Pen and paper, do you have them?’ ‘Danged if I have,’ came the truculent response. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. I had left Paris.
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