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"Ay, what's the matter, boy!" reiterated Jackson sternly. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. I won’t try. He gave an order, the proa was floated and the sail run up. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. "Do nothing without consulting my father—your father, Thames," she implored. ‘Have no fear,’ he uttered soothingly, reaching out to pat her free hand.
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