David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. The last piece was Scheherazade. "We must change the subject," remarked Thornhill, pausing in his task; "this will never do. ’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. Besides, revenge is sweetened by delay; and I indulge too freely in the passion to rob it of any of its zest. .
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