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The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. ’ Gosse blinked. She was fatigued physically and mentally, and neither mind nor body could rest. No doubt he knew enough of his world to recognise that he stood little chance against the word of a major of militia.
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