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Mrs. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. ‘What the devil for? I’ll have one of the men ride the creature up tomorrow. Austin departed, and presently afterwards returned with the two subordinate officers, each of whom wore a leathern apron round his waist, and carried a large hammer. I’m a Socialist, Miss Stanley.
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