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But at this, he halted, turning his frowning gaze back on her. ” She raked into the fire with the poker. And here she was—in a mess because it had been impossible for her to avoid leaning upon another man. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. It was empty. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. How's that strike you?" "Very well, sir.
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