There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. “Listen! There was a Meysey Hill in Paris, an American railway millionaire. "No offence," returned Jonathan. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. She was recalling the circumstances under which she had engaged herself to Manning, and trying to understand a curious development of the quality of this relationship. ” She replied. .
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