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The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. Supper was over. It's mighty lonesome down there for a man bred to cities. Nothing is of any concern of ours except the discovery of the man’s identity.
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