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CHAPTER XXIII. "The devil you have!" thundered a voice from behind, that filled the apprentice with dismay. You intrigue me. Thames Darrell MUST die. Wood turned to look at him. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders. Oh, I know. “There is something to be said for the lady-like theory after all,” she admitted. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. There was a wild light in her eye, and her straight hair was out demonstrating and suffragetting upon some independent notions of its own.
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