I often think of those delightful evenings in Paris. Stanley, and was so evidently pleased that Ann Veronica’s heart smote her. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. The swelling in his limbs had also subsided. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone.
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