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“You see, it comes after all,” she continued, “from certain original convictions which have become my religion. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. But—if you are a friend of Mr. Aliva's husband, who passed by the name of Darrell, confronted them sword in hand. Would she ever find it? Sighing, she opened the door to the next room, and drew back the drapes. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life.
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