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She lied. Wood having laid hold of the canvass-bag. ‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. I ought to stay the night through; but I'm late now for an operation at the hospital. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. McClintock liked it. She dare not risk it.
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