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The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. "Sir Rowland is your uncle—he will be your guardian—he will protect you. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. He munched his popcorn steadily, periodically offering it to her, but not his Coke, as that would be too bold, a saliva exchange.

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