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He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. She had only to get through this, to solace Manning as much as she could, to put such clumsy plasterings on his wounds as were possible, and then, anyhow, she would be free—free to put her fate to the test. He was aware of trying to scream because he was paralyzed and his legs would not move. . . I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. She gloried in it: he needed her.
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