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Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. Perhaps these few words were the first real conscious words he had uttered in days. ’ ‘Alas. If only—Anna, tell me,” she broke off suddenly, “how did you get to know Mr. ” “How?” “Well—a little clumsily. The dance itself was anticlimactic, with teenagers trying their best to look the part of adult sophisticates on the dance floor. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy.
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