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CHAPTER XXXI. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. He had. By this time, the churchyard was crowded with spectators, some of whom dispersed in different directions in quest of the other robber.
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