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G. One has to train one’s self not to. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. ‘I must see the lady who is my great-aunt. " "I see. ” The man contented himself with a nod. He hated himself a little for it. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. Your life is like a funeral March. ” “I’m not.
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