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“Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction. ‘Hang it all, Mrs Sindlesham is right! You are two of a kind. Kneebone, I came hither as your guest. A town called Foster. . ‘That’s right, you bone idle do-nothings. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. "Go to lunch," he ordered Ruth.
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