” He said, his voice tinged with worry. Love—admiration for your matchless beauty alone sways me. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. It surprises you. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. How long has Miss Charvill been in England?’ ‘Not long, sir. ‘Quite mad, nuns are. " So saying, he closed the door. But you must tell her.
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