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The duchess gives it up. "Yes, and a far better one, too," she says, amiably, declining to explain. Indeed, she is delighted to meet a young woman who actually regards slang as a foreign and unstudied language, and shrinks from being the first to help her to forget the English tongue. "Is there much beauty in Ireland?" she asks, presently. "Yes; every one admires it. It is very old. You know one part of the Towers is older than all the rest." "I am glad you have been pleased to-night," says Mona, shyly, abashed by his studied silence. "But," nervously, "Killarney is even more beautiful. You must go there.".
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Conrad
"But, my dearest, why? There is not the slightest danger now, and my horse is a good one, and I sha'n't be any time getting——" "I don't mean him,"—severely: "I mean the brother you called 'Old Nick'—Old Nick indeed!" with suppressed anger. "Besides, you are going on a fool's errand," she says, speaking rapidly, as though to gain time. "He has reached his own place long ago. Wait until the morning, I entreat you, Geoffrey. I—" her lips tremble, her breath comes fitfully—"I can bear no more just now." Friday is fine, and towards nightfall grows still milder, until it seems that even in the dawn of October a summer's night may be born..
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