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CHAPTER XIX. This is simply a chapter of coincidences. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English. “What is the exact force of a motif?” she asked at random. The benches running round the room, though fastened to the walls by iron clamps, had been forcibly wrenched off; while the table, which was similarly secured to the boards, was upset, and its contents—bottles, jugs, glasses, and bowls were broken and scattered about in all directions. \" Michelle said dejectedly. She had braved all obstacles to pursue her dream. He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out.
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