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“Put her in the trunk. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. “Hand me the Jergens lotion, will you? How’d it go with John?” She asked. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth.
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