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He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs. "He does," replied Kneebone, "and, what is more surprising, it seems to increase. Are you sure you're not misinformed, Sir?" "I was in the Lodge at the time," replied the jailer. Now then. " CHAPTER XIV.
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