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She wondered occasionally why his mind needed so much distraction. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. For a moment he did not recognize Annabel. A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. She remained on guard. I go back about once a year. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. . ’ ‘I’m hanged if I can make out either of you,’ complained Hilary. . Marvel, in a tone intended to be consolatory.
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