Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. For aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment. Here was not the individual against whom she had been warned. V. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers.
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