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She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. "Shall I shoot him?" "Yes! yes! put it to his ear!" cried Mrs. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. Pole coolies came joggling along with bobbing blocks of jade—white jade, splashed and veined with translucent emerald green. Not us.
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