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She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. ‘Can’t you trust me a little?’ His touch sent shivers running through her, but Melusine did not withdraw her hand. . “I wonder—I wonder if we shall ever get like that. Paul's are his work. After all, old P. Come along home, Ruth.
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