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“I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt. Come in! Come in, do. Indignation carried her through that night, that men and the world could so entreat her. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. "Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. His glances were hard to disguise as he scanned her periodically during class.
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