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She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. Then, if you weren’t looking, he’d get five feet closer. ‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband. “Okay. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. “I am sure,” she said, “that you mean to stay until you are turned out. “There are a good many Whites in London.
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