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Wood, disdainfully. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. "Or the street," returned Jack: "mind my words, the prison's not built that can keep me. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. There was a time, long, long ago, when the tears would have rushed to my eyes unbidden at the bare mention of generosity like yours, Mr. Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter. Can’t ask the gent to go abroad and condone a bigamy.
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