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They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. ‘I can see why you lost your place, young Kimble. It was Missy and Michelle in her grandmother's old Buick. “Are you with us?” said the tired woman. “Annabel?” he exclaimed.
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