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General Lord Charvill disinherited him for his pains. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. Her heart ached; and that puzzled her. ‘Do not mix yourself in mine, and perhaps you will not die. Too bad he’s not interested in any girl who’s not a musician. She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt. "I told you that before," rejoined Wood, testily. What was his problem, she thought to herself.
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