Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. Immeasurable disgust possessed her. I mean I’m not a good specimen of a woman. “I did it for love of you,” he said. Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. ’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought. . CHAPTER I.
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