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‘You cannot read my mind at all, monsieur. Leave Martin Chen and his family alone. I do not care in the least. He turned, and beheld Winifred. She lied. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands. “Did they ever try it for themselves?” He wrestled his chin between her thighs as she tried to squeeze her legs shut upon his ears.
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