The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. I find it impossible to associate you with—my little friend of the ‘Ambassador’s. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. Do you remember when we went right away, Nigel, and forgot everything? We went down the river past Veraz, and the larks were singing all over those deep brown fields, and the river further on wound its way like a coil of silver across the rich meadowland, and along the hillside vineyards.
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