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She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. " "I'm sorry I can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. “I hope nothing is wrong. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. Her likeness to her sister gave him at first almost a shock; a moment afterwards he was conscious of a wonderful sense of relief.
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