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If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. Kneebone's," remarked Austin, rising to fasten the door. She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way. But this time she wanted nothing for herself: she wanted something for Hoddy—success. " "Leave you!" echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; "—not just yet.
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