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"Yis. It ole Dido," she said. "But ole Dido not lost. Dat great massa, he look after ole Dido." "Where is Mr. Sarby?" Patricia sighed and stretched herself luxuriantly..
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kez_ h (Kez_h)
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Conrad
All about the spacious hall were groups of Arabians, of fair Circassians, of dusky Nubians and turbaned Turks, while the rustle of costly fabrics and the odor of heavy Eastern perfumes floated in the air; the modern city outside in the wintry electric lights was well forgot in the enchantment of the moment, and Patricia lost count of time and sense of self in the pageant that swept across the lofty chamber to make its obeisance at the imperial divan. CHAPTER XVIII. THE DEVIL-STICK THIEF. "I don't know for certain, Mr. Alymer, but I can guess." "That part wasn't," agreed Griffin, "though a bit more sporting perhaps. But what came after was. Mary Miller, the model, told us the most wonderful story—her own life, first in the bush in Australia and then here in New York and Chicago; and who do you think she is?".
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