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" "Better she die by her own hand, than by that monster's," cried Jack, brandishing the bar. " "Perhaps he is from Lord Derwentwater, or Mr. " It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. It was past seven when she got back to her hotel.
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