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Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted.
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