Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. ‘Major Gerald Alderley, mademoiselle, quite at your service. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. “I’m sorry, ma’am, to seem the cause of any disturbance, but this,” he pointed to Anna, “is my wife. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp.
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