" And, dexterously applying the implement, he forced open the lock. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. I never forgive an injury. See? Down we should rush in a foam—in a cloud of snow—to flight and a dream. In vain did the woollendraper offer to set him free if he would restore the stolen article, or give up his associate, to whom it was supposed he might have handed it. She continued to fan herself. ” He receded from her. I——” Then he stopped short, for he began to remember things.
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