She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy. "What do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried Wood, reddening with anger. She dared not say the word aloud, not even to herself. I love you more. She hated tricking Shari, whose joy for life was the only thing that made her naive enough to fall for laced iced tea or hot cocoa, depending on the season. “Neither you nor I, Nigel, are made of such stuff,” she answered. .
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