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The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. , and munched a roll and butter with hearty appetite. “Fuck you, Julian Rimbauer. Her eyes were lit with a gleam of humour. Half an hour's labour, during which he was obliged more than once to pause to regain breath, sufficed to make a hole wide enough to allow a passage for his arm up to the elbow. “Please stop by. What has been the matter?” “Toothache,” he answered laconically.
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