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She pulled her chair with a mild creak and marched towards the stair. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. And, besides, she didn’t just immediately want to make her attempt. Her formerly brown hair was dyed a white shade of blonde. Clearing the recess the instant after his companion, he flew to the door of the inner room, and, locking it, took out the key. To be sure, Ruth had dimly been aware of this; but now for the first time she was made painfully conscious of it.
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