The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. His face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion. She looked at him curiously. I suppose this is what she learns in her infernal London colleges. "By George!" he exclaimed. If you ride past the church, and mount the hill, you'll come to Neasdon and then you'll not have above half a mile to go. ” “Nor I,” she remarked tersely.
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