"And, oh! forgive me, though I can never forgive myself, for the misery I have caused you. In one grave, mind. Sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the Mint. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. ‘There were the Comte and Comtesse de St Erme. The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile. ‘Jacques!’ She got no further, for Kimble came towards her, speaking fast and low. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought. He was struck disagreeably by Ramage’s air of gallant consideration and Ann Veronica’s self-possessed answers. For a moment she too had started and faltered in her exit from the room. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. It won’t even know whether to be scandalized at us or forgiving.
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