Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. “How would you know?” Michelle’s interest was piqued. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. "Ah! Terry O'Flaherty!" vociferated Jonathan, in a tone that betrayed hot the slightest discomposure.
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