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But out of a belated regard for her father she wrote the surname of some one else. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. Ah, but she could remember; and many things there were that she would never forgive. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. He had taken it back.
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