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He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. She fled. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city. I’m anxious, joyfully anxious, like a man when he has found a treasure. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them.
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