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He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. A shout was heard at a little distance, and, the next moment, a person rushed with breathless haste to the stair-head. “Even Katy Pfister can’t touch you now. I’m a desperate young woman. Yes—as he would have liked. She spotted her opportunity.
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