” “I don’t believe it,” he answered hoarsely. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. " "Do not distress him, dear father," said Winifred; "he suffers deeply. We thought of starting in half an hour’s time, and trying for a theatre somewhere on the way.
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