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She laughed a little contemptuously. ‘En effet, it is for this that I was enquiring of this man if he has pen and paper. “So am I the jewel or the bug inside?” He smiled. Her back stiffened. It must be the dawn creeping in. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter. ” She took the pocket-book and looked up at him with a little impulsive movement.
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