He succeeded so well that by the time he asked for her name once more, she fluttered her lashes as coquettishly as ever. She fixed her eyes upon it and ran, keeping always as far as possible in the shadow of the hedge, gazing fearfully every now and then down along the valley for the white smoke of the train. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions.
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