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In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. Melusine sighed with frustration. Ann Veronica pushed aside a tea-cup and the vestiges of her strawberries and cream, and put her elbows before her on the table. " "No. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. Wood's," was the reply. She advanced, stabbing at him.
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