"But what does he mean by calling you a wanton? —you, my wife?" Enschede's hand slipped from his daughter's shoulder. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. But as the next moment all was profound darkness, Jack easily managed to break away from them. Speedily recovering himself, however, he rejoined, with forced calmness, "You are mistaken, Sir. She was going to him soon and certainly, going to his strong, embracing arms.
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