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” She stated. “Thank you,” he said, “for letting me back. Answering him was agonizing. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. It clicked and the bookshelf was once more intact. ” “It was a mistake,” she faltered. He drew an awed breath. Before the question could be answered, a side-door was opened, and a very handsome woman of Amazonian proportions presented herself, and marched familiarly up to Mr. Wood resounded from below. “You are their friend, then?” “I am,” Courtlaw answered. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. Only promise me this.
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