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Capes sat down in the armchair beside her. Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. There was no need of sowing suspicion when he wasn't really certain there were grounds for it. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand.
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