She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. ” “I hope,” he answered, looking at her in some surprise, “that we shall have many more such to think about. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed. A woman cannot change her soul. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. Sometimes they marry well. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely.
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