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His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. To get behind that impenetrable curtain, to learn why she hated her island. “Lady Ferringhall, sir. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. ‘Lord,’ he uttered, glancing about with a disparaging eye. “Is it your maid?” he asked. The girl regarded him with the face of a Sphinx. “Vee,” she said, “come home. There was—a service.
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