Let me only wear your livery. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. “I’ve been thinking of you all night,” she answered. "My head fairly turns round. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow. I undid his coat, and I took it from his pocket. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag. He grabbed her legs and threw the covers from the bed.
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