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If you can imagine it, I survived it. " "I've heard of him," replied Jack, impatiently. Charcoal. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Inquiring for Mrs. "Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul.
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