“Well,” she admitted. He seemed years younger, and the arrangement of his tie and hair were almost rakish. "Oh! Sir, if you'd seen her as I've seen her, you'd not wish her a continuance of misery. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. Who is to say that I am not André Valade, an obscure relation of the late vicomte.
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