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But send me word. Burn your palette and your easel. Taber? There is a possibility. "That's your hunting ground," said the doctor. He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and read the agreement through to her. "I understand," she said. We shall be torn in pieces if we are discovered. Take me! take me!" "Before an hour you shall be mine," said Jonathan advancing towards her.
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