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CHAPTER XXIII. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. He walked with bent head. It's exactly like a miniature I have in my pocket. \" Said John as he piled the papery remnants of their meal onto the tray. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. This is my first venture over here. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it. But if his frame was immature, his looks were not so.
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