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"Jack!" exclaimed Thames. "Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. Marvel, who had been a little discomposed by the treatment he had experienced on Holborn Hill, very composedly filled and lighted his pipe. Then a third secretarial opening occurred and renewed her hopes again: a position as amanuensis—with which some of the lighter duties of a nurse were combined— to an infirm gentleman of means living at Twickenham, and engaged upon a great literary research to prove that the “Faery Queen” was really a treatise upon molecular chemistry written in a peculiar and picturesquely handled cipher. And you’re as clean as fire. Anna had told me that he carried always with him this bogus marriage certificate.
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