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Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. She passed him silently as she dropped Michelle’s dried corpse into the open clay pit awkwardly, like a discarded doll. He himself had deadened the sound by closing the door. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man.
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