So the talk went on. " "You have made no such arrangements as will compromise me, I hope, Sir Rowland?" said Wild, hastily. 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. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action.
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