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His lawful wife; but nothing more; beyond that she was only an idea, a trust. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. She went to a dramatic agent, and he turned out to be the one who had heard me sing in Paris. Next instant he had her immobilised, her hands behind her back, her chest crushed to his, the white veil slipping once again.
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