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" "'Zounds! Captain, I shall get my death of cold. You are my prisoner, murderer. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. Give me your hand. It’s no good hiding it any more. ’ ‘Dieu du ciel,’ burst from mademoiselle as she jumped up. The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it. Then Gosse spoke again, answering the question in her mind.
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