That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. By the light of a torch borne at the stern of the hostile wherry, he saw that the pursuers had approached within a short distance of the object of their quest. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. ’ ‘Probably not. Lucia had never been so happy, so content.
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