The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. The ladies were, as usual, very gaily dressed; and as usual, also, had resorted to art to heighten their attractions— From patches, justly placed, they borrow'd graces, And with vermilion lacquer'd o'er their faces. Lucy’s cool. She paused. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. I did so. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest.
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