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" Upon which, he plunged his oars deeply into the stream, and the bark shot from the strand. “I never dreamt!” she said. . ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours.
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