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The miserable woman staggered, uttered a deep groan, and fell senseless on the straw. “You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own. Love!” He held her arm and abandoned it again at her quick defensive movement. When I absorb a fact, my brain weighs the fact carefully and stores it away. Always the other things remained. The carte de jour was before Monsieur. “I thought you were coming right across the Park. “And even then—” The conversation hung for a thoughtful moment. I wish that it worked. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail.
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