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She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. "I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase.
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