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" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. She found pieces of it on the blacktop near the green dumpster, amazingly small pieces considering the fabric’s original heft. “I murdered them, John. And if this soi-disant Valade had already gone to Monsieur Charvill— ‘Very well,’ she said to Jack without turning round, ‘but now is Wednesday. But those days are over—quite over. “I am afraid that you are making a mistake,” she said. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted.
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