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” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. I pity her from the bottom of my heart. " And she burst into a wild hysterical laugh. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. I have neither father, mother, brother, sister, nor husband—I have only him. ” “My message is urgent,” he said firmly. There were three exit doors. My very sentences stumble and give way.
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