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’ ‘Fancy my old pa thinking you was a French spy. Locked! He sped out to the corridor and went swiftly into the next room. There was a second co-respondent. “To my chagrin, I have. But I can't consent to the course you would pursue—at least, not till I've given it due consideration. "This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. "Here!" shrieked Lady Trafford.
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