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Stanley, consenting with dignity. “No. I guess those books are okay because they are fiction. You came to me, you wished me to speak to Anna. Brown or Jones, I dare say. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. Sheppard, averting her face to hide her tears. Had she said the words aloud? He pulled her close and she nuzzled her head on his chest. No one could take the place for anything but what it was, and even Gosse hesitated in the doorway.
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