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He was not there. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. "That's a good story, lad. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks.
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