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"I have no sympathy," replied Prudence, "with a man who deliberately fuddles himself with strong drink. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. I can't concentrate on my work. ‘A word, if you please, my friend. Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. Your son was seen by the carpenter's wife in company with the robbers.
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