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"Ay, ay," rejoined Sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,—hang me, if he thinks proper,—if you wish it. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. Very gently indeed, Alderley grasped the handle of the door and stealthily turned it. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue.
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