"I don't see how I can improve it. ‘This is a private house,’ Hilary said severely, ‘and you are trespassing. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. '" "Slave?" echoed Jack. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. Its importance had vanished with her abandonment of compromise. There was something very wrong. He could not tell by the look of her whether she was glad or sorry that presently she would be free.
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