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The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. The Supper at Mr. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. In Singapore that had been her only dissipation: a dozen pairs of silk stockings. Her heart in her mouth, she heard his foot scrape on the floorboard and knew from his expression that Gosse had heard it too. Thames, look the door.
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