"Who is your accomplice?" asks Geoffrey, still with studied calmness.,
"I always think of you as Geoffrey," whispers she, with a swift, sweet, upward glance; "but to say it is so different. Well," bravely, "I'll try. Dear, dear, dear Geoffrey, I want to tell you I would be as happy with you in Wicklow as in Rome.",
So in silence, but hand in hand, they move back through the dewy meads, meeting no one until they reach the little wooden gate that leads to her home..
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