"The danger's past," whispered Bess. ” She put her wrists upon his shoulders, feeling him surge with the pride of his own masculinity as she touched him. ” “You’ll get them,” he said. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. And now you must go back, take up your work and think all this over. " "I'll excuse it nevertheless," returned the little damsel, affectionately extending her hand to him. .
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