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"What shall we do, Poll?" hesitated Edgeworth Bess. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. I found it on the beach, just sitting there nestled inside a piece of driftwood. She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. “It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. “I was never at any such dinner, and I am quite sure that I do not know you. .
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