"Come on, my lads!" vociferated Blueskin, "we'll unkennel the old fox. ” That simple statement of the case was by no means all that went on in Ann Veronica’s mind. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question.
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