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She felt her canines growing. "I was merely about to observe that I am in possession of her secret. It is no good going into that. Almost the last female to bear the name, too,’ muttered the old lady. ‘But I ain’t been idle, miss, I swear it. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. He nodded. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative.
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