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“What’s that young lady’s name—girl in dark brown, stranger here?” Mr. She glanced into her companion’s face, and she saw there strange things. One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. "I'm armed; you are not.
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