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Then she would write and tell her father what she had done, and put their relationship on a new footing. “His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. But I had to know for sure. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. Passing thought.
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