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"By the way," said the doctor, as he sat down in the dining room of the Victoria and ordered tea, "I've been thinking it over. Well, I don’t think that’s fair. “I’ll go. "Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. ‘It will suit me very well that you go away, because you are a person without sense and I do not wish to talk to you. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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