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” Drummond, a few years older, dark, clean-shaven, with bright eyes and humorous mouth, laid down his paper and turned towards Sir John. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. From all angles he was at a disadvantage—in weight, skill, endurance. ‘You’d do the same. “Your brother has gone?” she asked Sydney, between the courses. She could not help herself. We are nuns.

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