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“It is true. ’ ‘Eh? Why did you not say so, man?’ demanded Hilary crossly. “That is where my cervix should be. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. Capes sat down in the armchair beside her.
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