Rubbing to edges. Spine and corners bumped. Covers creased. Foxing to prelims and inside covers.
Bernard felt a prickle of foreboding as he heard of the poor poet stranded in the frozen icefloes of the Antarctic, for he knew that nothing would stand in Miss Bianca's way to rescue him.
How right he was, for soon he is at her side, flying over the desolate wastes on their mercy mission. Abandoned in that dreadful chill even Miss Bianca, usually so courageous and resourceful, wonders how they can survive. And there is the added danger that when you are the purest white, like Miss Bianca, you might disappear in a trice against the glistening snow!
