"Pursue him," cried Thames to the attendants, "and see that he does not escape. ’ He moved to his friend and grasped his hand in a gesture as deliberately dramatic as the storytelling of mademoiselle. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. Ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him. Understand once and for all that that answer is final. But I will never—never return.
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