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She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. "Your servant, Sir Rowland," said the stranger, ducking his head, as he advanced. "Strange!" observed the Master; "I thought he'd been at my elbow all this time. But we’ve got the brains to get over that, and tongues in our heads to talk to each other.
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