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And then there came for both of them at least a temporary awakening. The Night-Cellar. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. " "Depend upon it, Sir. "He's a base, deceitful, tyrannical, hoary-headed libertine—that's what he is. Her cheeks were aflame. 'Mrs. "Poor fellow! I'm glad he has escaped. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation.
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