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She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. He would talk to Spurlock, but from the bench; as a judge, not as a chagrined lover. His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. "Are you not that man's mistress?" demanded Mrs.
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