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“I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. Her mouth was worthy of her face; with small, pearly-white teeth; lips glossy, rosy, and pouting; and the sweetest smile imaginable, playing constantly about them. ‘You are there. But give me till to-morrow—only till to-morrow—I may be able to part with him then. ‘It is the life I know. Imbecile. “Well, my girl, I wish you had thought about all these things before these bothers began. Sheppard, eagerly.
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