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They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. Spit of your mother. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. ‘Come, mademoiselle. You don't realize what you have done. CHAPTER VIII. ‘You do not use your head, Emile,’ she said flatly. ’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen. The man looked hard at him.

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