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. " "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. "The guv'ner'll be here afore midnight. ‘And if it is true that you love me, I do not know why it is that you do not kiss me again at once.
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