Wood grasped his companion's arm to attract his attention to this unexpected means of escape. ’ The girl glanced up the road and turned back, annoyance in her face. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. "What say you to carrying her off, Captain?" suggested Blueskin. The spinsters were not kind; they were only curious because she was odd and wore a dress thirty years out of date. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. ‘Do you think I could endure to hear you prattling your abominable French in my ear day by day? Enough to drive me straight into my grave. I never let her read stories, or have pets, dolls. .
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