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So often as she had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom. Had he been listening inside? ‘What is amiss?’ ‘That Frenchie, sir. It penetrated the skin; benumbed the flesh; paralysed the faculties. Her mother did not seem to like the new doctor at all, shunning him with a near superstitious dread. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed.
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