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And don’t tell me what you’ve been up to, dashing off to Remenham House with that Kimble lad, and Lord knows what besides, because I don’t want to know. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely. Wood. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. Capes saw her, felt for her, cared for her greatly, even if he did not love her. . . Capes was irritatingly judicial in the matter, neither absurdly against, in which case one might have smashed him, or hopelessly undecided, but tepidly sceptical. Like the parrot, she could memorize the lines, but she could not understand them. "I can't say I do," replied Wood.
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