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Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. Marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by a dead dog, which was hurled against him, and struck him in the face. ‘Think I’m fool enough to do my business in a convent?’ he said scornfully. The light of memory flashed in the man’s face.
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