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" CHAPTER XVIII. We shall be torn in pieces if we are discovered. Sometimes I think I’ll miss them and I start to cry, but I’m ready to have a life of my own. Do you have a car?” She asked. “You be off, missie,” said the fatherly policeman. The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers. And now her father said she must not go. ” “It is,” he replied, “the one humiliation of my life. I cannot turn into a bat. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you.
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