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The bed-and table-linen were of the finest texture. Lucy howled as tooth met bone, her arm clamped in the trap of Rhea’s huge canines. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. The skies became brilliant; the dry monsoon was setting in. CHAPTER XX.
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