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She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done.
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