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No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. There were probably others buried around the 13 house, she had seen a suspicious working refrigerator in the back of the garage mess, but she wasn’t about to check it out. She's not for pleasure, but for work. “Then I don’t take this as final. “My first love was all blundering,” said Capes.
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