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“H’m!” he said, regarding the wreckage with a calmer visage. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. ” “And he accepted meekly?” “Practically. ” The tired woman sat still for a moment.
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