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But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. Now, for the cage, my pretty canary-bird. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him.
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