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“So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. “I love you, you know. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. “You should quit. ‘Now then, my lad, you’re under arrest you are. It was a face that matched her body, so pure and beautiful that any man would have killed for her. ‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. Too skilled to advertise their presence by a show of arms and men. " Then he looked at Ruth.

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