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” “It was behind the Place de Vendome, on the other side from the Ritz. "Can't you speak?" "I don't choose," replied Thames, sturdily; "and your brutality shan't make me. " "No—no," laughed Jack. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain.
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