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“Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. ‘Or flew in by balloon, perhaps. The young man did not know what he was doing or where he was. I know in Paris you pinched and scraped that your sister might have the dresses and entertainments she desired. Consent to become my wife, and do not compel me to have recourse to violence to effect my purpose, and I will spare your son. White——” “No more,” Sydney Courtlaw begged, laughingly. “I love your sister. When I absorb a fact, my brain weighs the fact carefully and stores it away.
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