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“NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine: unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin. As to following, there was no one. Her father was distinctly irascible, and disposed more than ever to hide away among the petrological things—the study was turned out. Her mind jumped with questions as fear raced through her and hardened into a bid for retaliation. “I shot him. "Ah!" ejaculated Mrs.

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