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’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. . "But to the point," continued Wild, unconscious of the peril in which the remark had placed him,—"to the point. I thought it was a mirror at the first, for it was so very like myself. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters: MR. I sha’n’t care a rap if we can never marry.
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