" The tone was neutral. He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. " "Do you want me to tell her that I am grateful?" "Well, aren't you?" "I don't know; I really don't know. 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. ” “You will make me horribly conceited,” he answered.
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