’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. Great sport, eh? To haul them back from the ragged edge. “I’m next, Mr. ’ ‘Well, let us leave your name for the present.
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