Trodger laid down their muskets and turned on them. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. Her unnatural calm was giving way. Stanley took mustard savagely. The strong fingers of one hand secured both her wrists there, and Melusine found herself chest to chest with him as he threw off his hat, and began to pat at her petticoat, searching for tell-tale protrusions. His face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion. CHAPTER XVIII.
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