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You shall know the truth. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated. I hear the sound of his horse's feet in the yard. "He has not the power—perhaps not the will to do so. "Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create.
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