"My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. I’d rather not go,” she added. But if I painted her as I'd like to, the natives would instantly distrust me; and I'd have to build up confidence all over again. You understand me, I’m sure. ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. "Mother—dear mother! Once again, I beseech you to listen to me. .
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