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A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. But his astonishment would have been great indeed had he known that not even her father had ever caressed her, either with lips or with hands. ‘All right, Trodger. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. If I’m late again I’ll have to serve another detention!” She excused herself, hoping it was not too obvious she was running away.
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