“You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. At last, he got into a lane, but had not proceeded far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse's tread. I spent my fair share of time in the closet. Her husband was prouder of her every day. Pure romantic nonsense on her part. But the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,—which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion—was made a public exhibition.
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