’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. ‘Valade, if you don’t mind. Hark ye, Blueskin," continued he, addressing that personage, who, in obedience to his commands, had, with great promptitude, driven out the rabble, and again secured the door, "a word in your ear. " "I don't care if he is," rejoined Thames, boldly.
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