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better than thinking about Thorn. His kisses. Kisses that seemed so incompatible with his aloofness. |
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Why was she letting that changeable, frustrating man affect her this way? |
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A slight movement in the comer of her eye made her glance sideways. |
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A pair of moccasined feet stood beside her. Legs in trousers rose from them to tower over her. She drew in her breath. Once again, Thorn had crept up on her. She found herself smiling. |
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Raising her eyes, she gasped and rose quickly to her feet. It wasn't Thorn, but an Indian. |
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He wasn't much taller than she, and he wore a buckskin shirt, breechcloth and leggings. His head was shaved except for a swathe of black hair that ran from the center of his scalp into a long braid. He smelled of something she couldn't identifyan animal odor. |
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"H-hello," she stammered. Being a child of the twentieth century, she abhorred the way Native Americans had been treated during the history of her country. Nevertheless, this man was a product of his own era and might not take the time to learn her opinions before treating her the way he would any invading European of the eighteenth century. |
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But Mariah recalled a similar incident in the script. She relaxedbut only for a moment. The Indian, though he had crept up on Matilda, had been Thorn's ally. |
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But other things in the screenplay hadn't been completely correct. |
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"You scared me," Mariah said with a nervous laugh. The man said nothing, but his dark eyes flashed a look that she could only interpret as venomous. |
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Could this really be a friend of Thorn's? |
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"Do you speak English?" she asked. |
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The man's frown deepened. |
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Still no positive response. |
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"Look," Mariah said uneasily, reverting to English. "I don't really understand what's going on here. Maybe I |
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