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” Annabel laughed hardly. ’ ‘Pottiswick, you mean, miss?’ ‘Yes, yes. Clement's church. He did everything. Threw it out. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. You’re dogmatic. Very well.
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