Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. Sheppard, averting her face to hide her tears. It’s not you—not a bit. “I think she would,” she decided. "I can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!" "I'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper from her grasp. \"See ya later, Michelle. ’ ‘But what do you want it for, miss?’ ‘But to protect myself. Sheppard; "and to-day is Monday.
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