There was enough contra-light to render her ethereal. " "Iss, Massa Austin," replied the black. " The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. . ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. “As I love you. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring.
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