’ Gerald’s eyes never left the girl. She bathed frequently with ash and lye soap stolen from traders. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like! A Frenchie is what you are, and there ain’t no granddaughter Charvill no more. Eh bien, why did he not repeat it? What was she to say? ‘Prudence,’ she began hesitantly, pronouncing the name in the French way, ‘has said that she will help me to—to marry an Englishman.
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