‘You can’t go to England. \"Hey, you dudes!\" The word dude coming from Michelle's mouth suited her just about as well as the word \"gnarly\" suited Winston Churchill. He grunted a little with effort, and she realised the gilt frame must be heavy. She was not altogether surprised when she found a deer, gutted of its entrails and strung with a garland of flowers, on the cave’s doorstep one humid summer morning. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. ‘Seems to me, missie, as you’re as dangerous a female as I’m like to see. Something to tell you.
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