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They were both dressed in every respect alike. Yet you knew that I was not dead. He died in the war. There is a musical programme, and we have the windows open and blinds up, and a pink lamp shade over the piano lamp—a sort of advertisement of the place, you know. Mentally but not physically competent. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. He had hired not one but two engineers to record the event, subsidized entirely out of his own meager pocket. Lucy looked down, noticing that Michelle had left her shoes in the entryway.
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