" "It's mine, I'll be sworn," rejoined Wood. ” “I think,” Lady Lescelles said, putting down her teacup, “that I must send Nigel to plead his own cause. The rooks were cawing amid the boughs, and all nature appeared awaking to happiness. I'm sure he'll do his best to content you. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. “Is that you, Nigel?” she asked.
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