” “He was probably right,” she declared. I hated the stuff. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. “I do. It made her hungry. "Somebody ought to get hold of that young man," said Prudence, grimly, as she nodded in Spurlock's direction. ‘Certainly you may have me under guard. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question.
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