“Well, no,” she answered. "Not as I loved mine. ‘Do not be imbecile. ” She looked at him; his face, downcast and in profile, was handsome and strong. 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. No matter how swiftly he pursued this riddle, he could not bring it to a halt. ‘I fear you mistake, Emile.
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