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She held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and that. “I wonder if you will?” “Let me say one thing,” he said. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. "I knew he would," replied the Amazon.
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