“I should _love_ a long glass of iced German lager,” said Nanette. “Besides, I refuse to be deserted for a whole morning.” Her Japanese parasol lay along the rail of the veranda, her round bare elbows rested upon it and she cuddled her obstinate little chin in upturned palms. I turned to her with a glance in which I had meant to convey rebuke. But the blue eyes danced with mischief and pouting lips smiled impudently, a smile half childish and half elfin.…
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