’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. ’ ‘Oui, mais—safe. He was in love with her! She tried to grasp all the welter of values in the situation simultaneously, and draw some conclusion from their disorder. ‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion. In the heart of the jungle the dog had his private muck baths.
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