‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. The ruffian's companions took his part. ‘Unless he is himself a man of substance. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. Anna glanced into her sister’s face, and rose to her feet. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. ***** Coconuts grew perpetually.
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