It is picturesquely situated beneath a tree on the high road, not far from the little hostel before mentioned, and at no great distance from the church. " "Perhaps that was it. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. As he proceeded, other painful reminiscences were aroused. With delicate touch he rescued all that was possible of them, and made a careful little parcel. “What do you think you are doing?” He asked. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. “Lift up one corner of the curtain for me. Her English was halting. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. She withdrew her head with a little moan, and resumed her flight.
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