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"And now let's see who'll dare to oppose me. Paris, 18. Annabel, I cannot believe it. ‘Me, I do not need the help of anyone. He sounds to me like a soldier of fortune. Several men and women were piled there like wood, dead, horribly gored. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. So says your capitaine.
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