You are afraid of kisses. CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. Not if I read her aright. The air, perfumed with the delicious fragrance of the new-mown grass, was vocal with the melodies of the birds; the thick foliage of the trees was glistening in the sunshine; all nature seemed happy and rejoicing; but, above all, the serene Sabbath stillness reigning around communicated a calm to her wounded spirit.
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