“Isn’t that rather a strange question—under the circumstances?” he asked quietly. Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. Kent say to it?" "He thinks so highly of it, that he says if he had a daughter he would give her to the artist," answered Gay, a little maliciously.
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