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A cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed away for ever. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. It comes to this—am I to be trusted to take care of myself, or am I not?” “To judge from this proposal of yours, I should say not. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you. He could not tell whether she was English or American.
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