“You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. When he awoke it was late in the day, and raining heavily. Then he paused. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. I've tried the plan, and found it answer. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. But she did not believe he would do that. ‘She won’t like it,’ prophesied the captain gloomily. ‘And now,’ he said, drawing Madame to the seat, and contriving to sit close enough that his anatomy touched hers at several points, ‘let us talk about you, madame. Come into the parlour, Winifred, and dry your eyes directly, or I'll send you to bed.
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