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\" She opened the front door with her keys, stepping inside. I do not choose the vicomte, for that would be foolish. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. ‘Hates doing the pretty. There he was, standing with a group of men who she presumed to be the other richest men in the world. Sheppard repressed the scream that rose to her lips, and both mother and son gazed with apprehension at the heavy figure of the thief-taker, which, viewed in the twilight, seemed dilated to twice its natural size, and appeared almost to block up the window. And also she didn’t like them. " And he led the way to an inner room, in the middle of which stood a table, covered with a large white cloth.
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