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‘What else was there to do? He paid off the servants and left old Pottiswick in charge, saying that the place would have to remain empty until the heir was found. "A capital instrument for my purpose," thought Jack, shouldering it, "and worth all the trouble I have had in procuring it. No one will ever love you as I love you now. ‘She wormed it out of me, the little fiend. Books! Aren't they wonderful?" The blind alley of life stretching out before her, with its secret doorways and hidden menaces; and she was unconcerned. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly.
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