“See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. His literary instincts were reviving. And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons. Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann Veronica’s address. The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. Can you afford to give this time? There are your own affairs to think of. Acting upon this humane determination, he impelled himself slowly backwards,—for he did not dare to face the blast,—and with incredible labour and fatigue reached the crevice.
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