She had need of a devoted cavalier and Jack had proved eminently valuable. ‘You think I am like that Valade? No, a thousand times. Her dainty shoes were soiled with dust and there was a great tear in her skirt. You’re dogmatic. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. "You'd better surrender quietly, Jack," he cried; "you've no chance.
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