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‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. Did you ever go by any other names, ma’am?” “Yes. Through no fault of her own. Aware that he should incur the thief-taker's bitterest animosity by what he had done, the watchman, whose wrath against Quilt Arnold had evaporated during the walk, thought it more prudent not to hazard a meeting with his master, till the storm had, in some measure, blown over. He knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions. And ever after it struck him that her backward smile as she disappeared was charged with some special significance.
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