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But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. Her father intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands upon the latch. “What ought you to do?” He began to produce his knowledge of the world for her benefit, jerkily and allusively, and with a strong, rank flavor of “savoir faire. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. " The Wastrel laughed. . He hated the taste of it.
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