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She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. “And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. "And had you been the worst scoundrel unhung, I'd have seen to it that you had the same care, the same chance. ‘What is the matter?’ ‘Is there nothing you do not know?’ she asked faintly. They were both dressed in every respect alike.
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