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He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. Go away now, there’s a good lad. ’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes. Time after time he reminded her of how powerless she would be without him, how unkind the world was towards single women.
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