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The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. In the struggle the pistol went off, but without damage to either party. She lied. Rummage, my boy, do. You yourself, I am sure, recognize how impossible you have made it for me now to do anything of the sort. I will dedicate my books to you. Too much, perhaps. ‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary.
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