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She descended down the stairs of the house, sidestepping the refuse from bingedrinking teenagers that was strewn everywhere. Ramage. Her hair was washed for her also. ‘I’m only surprised you have not released yourself. Why should you want to shield him?" "I really don't know. If only he had known it, sympathy was almost entirely with him. “Why not?” Lady Lescelles answered. Perhaps I deceived you about it. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. ‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715.
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