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She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. " "Will you be taking a pole-chair?" "If that's the racket. The address was of course her destination, thousands of miles away, an infinitesimal spot in a terrifying space. " "What is this to me, Sir?" said Trenchard, cutting him short. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha.
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