Sheppard. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. “Some day,” she answered. But, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, Quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air.
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