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Manning, and glanced round hastily for further horticultural points of interest in secluded corners. Jack had got into one of the pens at the north side of the chapel. “I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. It'll be turning over to-morrow. ” “Well—” “That’s all. Without her, it was lonely. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. He succeeded so well that by the time he asked for her name once more, she fluttered her lashes as coquettishly as ever.
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