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And don’t talk until we’re well out of earshot. As he entered the shop, a tall portly personage advanced to meet him, whom he at once recognised as the present proprietor. The worst was over now. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. ‘It is in no way your affair, monsieur, and you will unhand me at once.
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