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“Good-bye,” he said earnestly. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Corporation. He had taken it back. ” Lucy said.

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