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‘Of course she don’t understand,’ snapped Charvill irascibly. “Just like old times,” she thought sardonically. On beholding the intruders, his fears changed to exultation, and he uttered a roar of satisfaction as he glared at them, which could only be likened to the cry of some savage denizen of the plains. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. He was a large oafish man, a man that seemed deceptively harmless, and some thought him slightly retarded. CHAPTER XVIII.
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