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Updated: May 21, 2025
That was her promise to her stepfather, her best friend. But what had been her promise to Jimsy, that day on the shore below the Malibou Ranch when they sat in the little pocket of rocks and sand and sun, and he had given her the ring with the clasped hands? Hadn't she said "I do believe you, Jimsy. I'll never stop believing you!"
They drove to Santa Monica, down the Palisades, up the narrow, winding, wave-washed road to the Malibou Ranch and built a fire and broiled chops and made coffee and baked potatoes, after their swim, ate like refugees and slept like puppies on the sand.
They came at last to the great gate which led into the Malibou Ranch and they halted there and went down into a little pocket of rocks and sand and sun and sat down with their faces to the shining sea. He kissed her again. "No; you can't go to Italy, Skipper. That's settled." "Then what are we going to do, Jimsy dear?" "Why, we'll just get " his bright face clouded over.
But we won't, if you'd rather not. Stepper will go with us, or Billy, or Ted." Mrs. Lorimer sighed. She could envisage just how much efficient, deterrent chaperonage her husband would supply. She watched them set off for the Malibou Ranch the next Sunday morning rather complacently, however. She had seen to it that Carter was of the party.
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