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“You had no right—” panted Ann Veronica. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. The young lady with frizzled hair, whom Brendon had pointed out to her as Miss Ellicot, leaned forward from her hostess’s side. The intense darkness added to the terror of the storm. ‘The sisters here will not save you. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she panted, shifting wildly in his hold, so that he had all to do to keep her thus imprisoned.
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