“Anna,” he cried eagerly. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. You might be able to use the picture some day. ’ ‘Aye, but she don’t reckon to militiamen. ‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground.
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