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I'm Missus Jasamine Swope an' a married woman an' you'd better not try to get fresh or " Simultaneous with Old Heck's question, Skinny, his eyes riveted on the dowdy girl, asked in a voice barely audible: "Are you are you Carolyn June?" "No, I ain't Carolyn June," she snorted. "Come on, ma; let's go! Them two's crazy or white slavers or somethin'!"
And he hurried his pace, half leading, half carrying the reluctant poet, who, however, was too drowsy and lethargic to do more than feebly resent his action, and thus they went together along a broad path that seemed to extend itself in a direct line straight across the grounds, but which in reality turned and twisted about through all manner of perplexing nooks and corners, now under trees so closely interwoven that not a glimpse of the sky could be seen through the dense darkness of the crossed boughs, now by gorgeous banks of roses, pale yellow and white, that looked like frozen foam in the dying glitter of the moon, now beneath fairy- light trellis work, overgrown with jasamine, and peopled by thousands of dancing fire-flies, while at every undulating bend or sharp angle in the road, Theos's heart beat quickly in fear lest they should meet some armed retainer or spy of Lysia's, who might interrupt their progress, or perhaps peremptorily forbid their departure.
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