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Her gratitude swelled within her. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. She went down, flushed and light-hearted, to the Widgetts’ after lunch to make some final arrangements and then, as soon as her aunt had retired to lie down for her usual digestive hour, took the risk of the servants having the enterprise to report her proceedings and carried her bag and hold-all to the garden gate, whence Teddy, in a state of ecstatic service, bore them to the railway station. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound.
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