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"Let me go," cried Winifred. "What a very remarkable thing it is," he observed, applying to his snuff-box, "that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,"—Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so,—"should turn out to be alive after all. When is the game?\" She did her best to overhaul her own appearance for 63 the greater part of an hour, blotting lips, fluffing the brush over her face. Capes? Well, think what it must be to live in them—soul and mind and body! It’s fun for a man to jest at our position. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically.
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