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CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. “I have scarcely left his side. Spurlock: 'tis Roundhead, sure enough. Montague Hill. My uterus and my ovaries are gone. “Lord!” she said. ” “To a friend?” “To lodgings—alone. A post-chaise seen in the road first alarmed us. My lads," he continued, addressing the partners; "when you've finished this job give that fellow a fresh set of darbies. ’ She turned and swept away from him, pacing the length of the room to the window Gerald had unshuttered. There is no other way. It forbids—all sorts of things. ’ ‘That is silly.

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