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She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. ‘You said?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham, your great-aunt, miss. He had set out to win her, and she had let him start. ’ Fire enveloped Charvill’s mind and he brought up his cane, pointed like a musket. That register would be easy to get at; comforting thought. " "So it is, child.
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