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’ ‘But you managed to escape nevertheless,’ Gerald said calmly, ‘disguising yourself as a nun. The Night-Cellar XVIII. She held out her hand frankly. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. "Anywhere," he said in answer to the manager's query. There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors.
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