“My dear sweet Lucia. Darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power. ” She shook her head deliberately, hopelessly. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think. "Don't think to deceive me by your false pretences.
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