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A thin line of red appeared in the white neck. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. “I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ protested Hilary angrily. No one spoke to her. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales.
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