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“I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. “I have not the least idea who he is. That ring manifestly occupied her thoughts a great deal. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. Lucy kissed him on the cheek. ” Lucy made fast friends with Jane Lenihan that day. ‘Ah, yes? To what do I pretend?’ ‘That,’ Gerald said regretfully, ‘I have not yet been able to fathom.
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