And now her mind was so full of the thought that she was in love—in love!—that marvellous state! that I really believe she had some dim idea of talking to him about it. Nigel Ennison was he. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked.
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