She is a woman chosen in youth for her beauty and her intelligence. Now, more than ever, it was time to start running. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. “Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us. He laughed at her heartily, and she laughed too as she had not for a year. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative.
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