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“It was poison—why not?” she answered. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. Nor my grandfathers both. Sheppard in the asylum, and take her this, and send her that;—and I've never prevented you, though such mistaken liberality's enough to provoke a saint. There must be something we can do. But, whether she likes it or not, I aim to be on hand to get her out of it. He had got here at speed by that means. "I must have dropped it when I took out my note-book.
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