Manning,” she began. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. Capes bore a face of infinite perplexity. "To the world's end," answered Jack, darting after him. For a stunned moment, Emile did not speak. Coarse as were the ruffian's notions of feminine beauty, he could not be insensible to the surpassing loveliness of the fair creature, who had thus solicited his attention.
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