She was no longer certain that she desired an Englishman, if she must judge of one in particular. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone. "Either he or you must return with me," answered Jonathan. " He stuffed the printed chintz into her arms and smiled into her eyes. A queer nut. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity.
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