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“NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. ” Rhea whispered. I thought that he was dead. But his words were borne away by the driving wind. The McCloskeys had picked Lucy from a bunch of children languishing at the Illinois Christian Home for Children.
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