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the men existed. The script hadn't indicated that Matilda had had anything worth stealing, either. Perhaps the men's plotting was because women were rare here in the wilderness, except, maybe, for those who sold their favors. |
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Whatever their reasons, she suspected their game, thanks to the script. |
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She glanced at John, at the front of the bateau. They'd navigated around the sandbar, and now he turned to stare at her. The eyes that had seemed youthful and friendly before were now cold, hard pebbles. |
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She smiled nervously. "Will our journey be much longer? I already feel as though I was born on this bateau." She started so violently that the boat rocked. Her fingertips leapt to her throat. Her own words had seemed familiar, too. She'd read them in the script. |
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She bit her bottom lip nervously as tears welled in her eyes. What was happening here? She had somehow been cast involuntarily in the role of Matilda, even getting into the role herself. But no one else around her appeared to be acting. |
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Feeling as though she were Alice fallen down the rabbit hole, she only heard dimly when Samuel, behind her, replied with the dialogue she'd read, "This river gets into your blood, miss. Everyone who sees her feels he's lived here forever." |
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The screenplay was unfolding around her. She would be attacked, just like Matilda. She was certain of it. But at least, unlike Matilda, she expected it and could plan ahead. |
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She craned her neck, watching the riverbanks and waiting. She glanced now and then at Samuel, behind her. The portly man usually stared back, and she didn't like the predatory nature of his jack o' lantern grin. |
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Then there was John, who turned often, as though to make sure she was still there. Somewhere along the way he'd dropped the pretense of being pleasant. |
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Nervously, Mariah continued her surveillance. Could she be wrong? She doubted it. She had to act. |
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She waited until she saw a small wooden pier jutting into the water from the bank at the left, like the one mentioned in the screenplay. |
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