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Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. Ramage. The man himself was not a pleasant object. “Let’s go. ‘Couldn’t even trouble to make a pretence of motherhood. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. ‘Civilian peace-keeping forces, you know. A town called Foster. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. Gerald smiled and crooked his elbow. All this was exciting and entertaining.
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