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"His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. 58 \"Why will you not touch me?\" She cried out, sitting up, her head in her hands. I meant mischief. ” “Anna!” “It is true, dear. Will you let your servant call me a hansom,” she continued, opening the door before he could reach her side. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot.
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