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For a long time neither spoke again. " "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. “You ass and imbecile, Ann Veronica! You female cad! Cad! Cad!. "Forgive—forgive me!" "I have nothing to forgive," replied Mrs. "Oh, I've read that!" Spurlock had heard distinctly enough all of this odd conversation; but until the spinster's reference to the family album, no phrase had been sufficient in strength of attraction to break the trend of his own unhappy thoughts. They had shared almost seventy five wonderful years there in nearly utter seclusion before it came time to move on. Now then. I always thought Mrs.
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