It was after all a momentary affair. “I thank you for your advice,” she said. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. It warms me, and lights me, and fills my world with flowers. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. “The horse’s knees are broken, and I am not sure that the man is sober. "Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding.
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