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"How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. Michelle moaned and Lucy, unable to help herself, stroked her hair. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. "Farewell for ever," said Jack, extending his hand to Mrs.
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