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He could not possibly lunge in the confined space, and so had nothing to do but back himself into the chapel as fast as he could. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. Clement's church. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her.
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