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’ Looking round, she found the little coterie of soldiers crowded into the passage behind them. “John, don’t!” she cried. It did not matter in the least what name the young fellow was travelling under; all James Boyle O'Higgins wanted was the letter H. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers.
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