Dese ere not schouts, as you faind, but jonkers on a vrolyk; and if dey'd chanshed to keel de vrow Sheppard's pet lamb, dey'd have done her a servish, by shaving it from dat unpleasant complaint, de hempen fever, with which its laatter days are threatened, and of which its poor vader died. Lucy snatched it up and put it in her pack. "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. ” John approached Lucy, handing the bouquet to her. “What?” He replied. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. It throbs cruelly.
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