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I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. The coach in which the prisoner had been conveyed was already broken to pieces, and the driver was glad to escape with life. I'm sure she'll let me go, though. Why would your mother be so impatient?” Lucy speculated. No lights were flashing, and a single squad car was not a cause for alert, as sometimes the Becks allowed squads to use their drive to watch for speeders and other reckless drivers. “There is my aunt,” she said. ’ ‘You would speak of the house?’ ‘Many’s the time little Miss Mary would say her papa meant for her to have it, she having no brothers and sisters at all—when we played together I mean, she and me and Joan Pottiswick. .
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