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She shut her lips hard, her jaw hardened, and she set herself to struggle with him. The detective reckoned that his quarry would be up in ten days more. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. It had been a very long time. She felt flattered. But even with that furniture it remained extremely vague, the possible good and the possible evil as well! The possible evil! “I’ll go,” said Ann Veronica for the hundredth time.
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