If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it. “Cheveney!” she repeated. The charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil. “I am in love with you. ” “In Paris, I think,” Ennison answered. ‘All these soldiers,’ she complained, adding with a sweep of one arm at the major’s dress, ‘all of them in red as you.
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