” Mr. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. Either Sydney or Mr. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off. “I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself—pray don’t look like that.
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