"Yes … but dreadfully tired. Twice we hired caterers. Two packets were committed to your charge, which you undertook to deliver,—one to another priest, Sir Rowland's chaplain, at Manchester, the other to Mr. Knap. Sure, I lose one occasionally—if he stays in New York. But if he starts a long jog, his name is Dennis. Do you remember when we went right away, Nigel, and forgot everything? We went down the river past Veraz, and the larks were singing all over those deep brown fields, and the river further on wound its way like a coil of silver across the rich meadowland, and along the hillside vineyards. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. "I should never have been what I am, but for you.
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