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gutenberg. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. Lucy stared like an automaton at Michelle’s unconscious 262 body, revolted at her own actions to the point of shock. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered.
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