"Thames, I entreat—" "Your wishes are my laws, beloved, girl," replied Kneebone, bowing profoundly. " "Here he is!" cried Ireton, as the knocking was heard without. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. But in the train going home her aunt reasoned it out. ‘Home?’ ‘To your family.
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