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“Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited. ‘Very well, arrest me. Without hindrance—present occupation. . Move. You’re a lady. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. "Is there anything wrong with it?" "Wrong? Why, you have been imposed upon somewhere. ‘But then again, possibly not.

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