He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. Rather! Who could help it?” He towered up over her and smiled down at her in his fatherly way. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. “Oh! please don’t lose yourself in a wilderness of secondary considerations,” she said. " "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. She was reasonably certain why. Well, I am Nigel Ennison’s sister!” “Oh!” Anna said.
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