“I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. I was to blame to carry the matter so far. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. ” “You have her face and figure,” he muttered. But I will never—never return. He pressed the long shapely hand warmly in his. She could not speak. Divide the money between you, and wear the ornaments for my sake. ’ ‘Aye, more’s the pity.
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