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She wanted to take him in her arms and hush him, but she sat perfectly still. "Strange!" observed the Master; "I thought he'd been at my elbow all this time. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. I cannot have my wife distressed or worried. John stared palely. Please to let me go there. " Miserably his thoughts shuttled to and fro in search of what he knew she wanted —a love story. There are cigarettes and magazines in the corner there. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. —'They can't, I tell you,' says I, in a bit of a passion; 'it's unconstitutional. Now lend me your own hand. D.
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