He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt. "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. "By the way," said the doctor, as he sat down in the dining room of the Victoria and ordered tea, "I've been thinking it over. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory.
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