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‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. She stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. “Really? Like 37 who?” “Corinne Carver, for one.
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