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“She found my collection of witchcraft books under my bed and threw them away. It was a dead calm. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. In a few seconds, the shutter flew open,—then the window,—and they were in the room. That knot also would be cut. She received into her slack grasp the pistol and dagger, only half aware of taking them.
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