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She turned to Lucilla, a plea in her face. She could not part with dignity. "I shall like to call you that. "Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. In a second the glass lay shattered upon the carpet.
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