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There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. “I will not have this slavery,” she said. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. But it would be too risky. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. I didn’t ought to have sent for him.
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