dejounte murray jersey

My thanks were few and awkward, for there still hung to the missive a basting thread, and it was as warm as a nestling bird. I bent low--everybody was emotional in those days--kissed the fragrant thing, thrust it into my bosom, and blushed worse than Camille.

"Why, what does all this mean?" asked Miss Harper amid her nieces' cries.

I found but one white figure under the dim veranda eaves. "Miss Camille?"

"She ain't awa-ay."

"That is what we want," was his reply; "only, they must not know we want it. Keep very still; don't move." At that word they espied us and galloped back.

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