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But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. ‘I don’t want no gold! Not for serving my mistress. I came here to beg you not to sign that contract. In Paddington. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. I knew it was in vain to cry 'murder!' in the Mint, so I had recourse to stratagem. Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly.

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