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There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. Wood;—"Owen—Owen!—Thames, help!" "Coming!" cried Mr. Sometimes she missed her cue and nodded affirmatively when the gesture should have been the reverse; and Prudence would send her a sharp glance of disapproval. ’ ‘What matters it?’ cried Melusine impatiently.
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