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" "What right have you to suppose this, Sir?" demanded Trenchard, sternly. She stuffed her violin in its case and rushed into the hallway towards John, who stood outside of 118 with his arms crossed. Jiggle-joggle, jiggle-joggle…! For each pause she was grateful. His build was medium, he would never 5 tower over his peers, yet his shoulders were broadening, betrayed by an undeveloped set of pectoral muscles underneath his button-down shirt that she could tell frustrated him. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. "Quick. He picked up the remote and sat himself to her right.
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