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’ Her lips parted, but she did not speak. "No!" she cried. You represent to me an enigma, the solution of which has become the one desire of my life. ” There came a silence again. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. There was a hint of tears in her voice. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it.

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