‘Jacques, do not die while I am gone. Grandmothers and grandfathers and uncles and aunts … to love and to coddle lonely little girls. This was Blueskin, who burst through the trees, and sword in hand assaulted the thief-taker. Little Anna screamed and thrashed as she was torn from Lucy’s skirts. At last his voice came to release her tension. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. It was comforting to have her there, snoring gently.
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