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Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. “To the young man himself,” he answered, “no! I simply object to his calling here two or three times a week during my absence. “It is unimportant,” she said. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. Whence had she come: whither was she bound? A temporary congestion in the street held up the caravan for a spell; and Ah Cum looked backward to note if any of the party had become separated.
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