“I don’t see what else I could have said,” he remarked. Austin, or any man of similar dimensions, would have found wholly impossible. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. Brendon felt his arm seized. Take it, I tell you. ‘Because,’ said Lady Bicknacre in the confidential manner of all matrons when passing on a tidbit of scandal, ‘Nicholas married against his father’s wishes and ran away.
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