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He glanced at Miss Klegg again, and spoke quickly and furtively, with eager eyes on Ann Veronica’s face. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. "Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves.
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