She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. “Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble. And listen, John. Hill, I hope you won’t find everything cold. "My son! my dear, dear son!" returned Mrs. "Blueskin," said Ireton. D. ‘He arst me to find him someone who might go with you.
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