I don’t love you. The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor. But there must be an Englishman who would like to marry her to get Remenham House. It was rude and disrespectful to raise her eyes to him, her mother had warned. I had gone further than I meant to—with some Englishmen. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. Lucy’s cool. After the usual laconic greetings, he drew him on one side.
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