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” “No,” cried Miss Miniver, almost vehemently. He looked at his friend. Her sense followed the shoulders under his coat, down to where his flexible, sensitive-looking hand rested lightly upon the table. " "'Zounds!" cried the executioner, in astonishment. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. The Iovellis were very rich, from what she could tell.
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