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’ ‘But what of justice?’ asked Lucilla, evidently dazed. Sometimes it seemed that she would never recover it. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. “It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. Besides ——” She stopped short.

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