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But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. ‘That’s wicked, that is. To—to find myself. She too at once developed an anxious interest in the street outside. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky.

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