"Well, you go along to the milkhouse an' lick the cream off a pan of milk. It'll settle that Injun turnip quick.",
He tried to speak, tried to pronounce her name, but the effort was a failure. All he could do was to drink in her perfect loveliness. More than ever like an angel she looked, standing all in white in the blue-dark gloom of the grove, her hair glowing like a halo above the deep pools of her eyes.,
Stanhope sank back on his box, his relaxed nerves throbbing and his lips forming the words: "Thank God!".
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