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That night she found a ship bound to sail for the heathen nation called America. F. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. ‘The wretch said nothing to anyone. “It’s your birthday today, May Day. It doesn’t matter. I want to love him. The mode of destruction makes no difference. And now the fiend Gosse had taken even that away from her. The thought made her exquisitely happy.
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