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Anna turned round with a start, which was almost of guilt, the poker still in her hand. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. "The Dawn Pearl!" he said, making to recline again. His face was white. “I cannot part with you.
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