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Wood had been my father, as well as yours. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. ‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology. He was not in love with her en désespoir which, he said, was necessary if a man would marry without getting a dowry from his wife. “Yes, mostly. Understand me. She gained her room, and slammed her door and locked it as though she feared violence and pursuit.
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