Let us pass, Sir. Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make you see. That is, if Spurlock had been throwing money about, which was more than likely. 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. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself.
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