When the lad is fit to be moved, we’ll bring him home. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. ‘Don’t try to turn it off,’ ordered Miss Froxfield. " And he tossed it carelessly into the bottom of the boat. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones.
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