"Sir Rowland is murdered!" cried Jack, as soon as he could find a tongue. A row of magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad arms over this pleasant spot. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. ” “Does she have to sell her soul to the Devil?” Lucy asked, feeling stupid. ” She kissed him passionately, and ran lightly upstairs.
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