But, though the latter was somewhat embarrassed by his burthen, he peremptorily declined Jonathan's offer of assistance. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. “Buon Primomaggio. She told me the tale the other night, and I've only elaborated it. Of all the entirely English women I know, you’re the only one with a French accent. Just now the waterchestnuts…. She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down.
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