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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. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. Why had Ruth married him? A penniless outcast, for she must have known he was that. In the rush of commuters he did not see her boarding his train. With the same inducements we should all do the same thing.
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