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"I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. “You are coming right out into life—facing it all. ‘That is better, no?’ ‘Dieu. " "And were I in yours," rejoined the woollen-draper, "I should be doubly apprehensive, because he's a professed friend. 1. I—well, I lost my temper. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being.
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