‘Now I see why you’re marrying this woman, Hilary. Think! Had you not better hurry back before Sir John discovers? You are his wife right enough. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. Anna held out her hand, and he paused. Her pa was only the smithy.
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