They walk up a little gravelled path, on either side of which trim beds of flowers are cut, bordered with stiff box. All sorts of pretty, sweetly-smelling old wild blossoms are blooming in them, as gayly as though they have forgotten the fact that autumn is rejoicing in all its matured beauty. Crimson and white and purple asters stand calmly gazing towards the sky; here a flaming fuchsia droops its head, and there, apart from all the rest, smiles an enchanting rose.
LobeHubH, "I really wish," she says, presently, "you would do what I say. Go to the farm, and—stay there."
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LobeHubH, Video
LobeHubH
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LobeHubH "And 'A dumb priest loses his benefice,'" quotes Mona, in her turn, almost gayly too..
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