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‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. You get the idea. "That I can't say. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. Then Gosse spoke again, answering the question in her mind. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. Dead or alive, I'll have him. A door, it may be remembered, opened from Wild's dwelling into this yard. Even her own history teacher, Mr.
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