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"Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. “You are late,” she murmured. I had to stay in school no matter how sick I was. I said I’d do anything.
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