Bob Hampton of Placer by Randall Parrish
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page 21 of 346 (06%)
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here in my stead. Now it is too late. I have never spoken to you
before, and do so at this time merely from a sincere desire to be of some assistance." There was that in his manner of grave courtesy which served to steady the girl. Probably never before in all her rough frontier experience had she been addressed thus formally. Her closely compressed lips twitched nervously, but her questioning eyes remained unlowered. "You may stay," she asserted, soberly. "Only don't touch me." No one could ever realize how much those words hurt him. He had been disciplined in far too severe a school ever to permit his face to index the feelings of his heart, yet the unconcealed shrinking of this uncouth child from slightest personal contact with him cut through his acquired reserve as perhaps nothing else could ever have done. Not until he had completely conquered his first unwise impulse to retort angrily, did he venture again to speak. "I hope to aid you in getting back beside the others, where you will be less exposed." "Will you take him?" "He is dead," Hampton said, soberly, "and I can do nothing to aid him. But there remains a chance for you to escape." "Then I won't go," she declared, positively. Hampton's gray eyes looked for a long moment fixedly into her darker |
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