Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return. "Bless your soul! d'ye think I'm to be gammoned by such nonsense. ‘As to Gérard, I do not know why he does this. It was hot and dry. It makes no difference. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. ‘Just around it, Hilary, that’s all.
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