’ The sergeant’s air became positively avuncular. Prudence shook her head. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. If you ride past the church, and mount the hill, you'll come to Neasdon and then you'll not have above half a mile to go. He had only been prevented, indeed, by a fear of Mrs. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. She had a nut-brown skin, a swarthy upper lip, a merry black eye, a prominent bust, and a tun-like circumference of waist.
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