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The larger problem at hand was drugging her foster sister, Shari, into a deep sleep. "And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose. So, not exactly hopefully but earnestly, she returned to the feet of God. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. Her sister had told him that it was true.
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