CHAPTER I. ” “You shall not need either,” Brendon said grimly. She saw a pole-chair; that would be this Mr. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. That turned her mind to the more generalized aspects of her perplexities again.
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