’ The lashes fluttered demurely. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. “I don’t want you to do it, to go on talking to me. " "I've nothing to confess," replied Thames, boldly; "I've done no wrong. But there is need for the proof that I am me, and that is what I look for.
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