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Updated: May 18, 2025
Frank Nelsen could see Paul Hendricks' white-fringed bald-spot. "Go ahead open the door. Or are you still scared?" Nance challenged lightly. "No just anticipating," Nelsen gruffed. "And seeing if I can remember what's Out There ... Serene, bubb, Belt, Pallas..." He spoke the words like comic incantations, yet with a dash of reverence. "Superbia?" Nance teased.
To Herr Haase, watching through his mask of respectful aloofness, it was as though the Baron's mind and countenance together snapped almost audibly into a narrowed and intensified alertness. The deep, white-fringed brows gathered over the shrewd pale eyes. "Not a Swiss?" he queried. "What are you, then?" "Huh!" the other jeered, openly. "I knew you the moment I saw you. Old Herr Steinlach, eh?
Ben was her only son, the light of her eyes. If what she saw was startling, it can hardly be wondered at. There came through the pink cloud of the apple blossoms her aviator son looking handsomer than she had ever beheld him, leading a girl in white-fringed crêpe that clung in soft folds to her slenderness.
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