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Having ceased to sing, her fingers wandered over the lute in melancholy symphony, and for some moments she remained lost in the sweet sensations which the music and the scenery had inspired. She was awakened from her reverie, by a sigh that stole from among the trees, and directing her eyes whence it came, beheld—Hippolitus! A thousand sweet and mingled emotions pressed upon her heart, yet she scarcely dared to trust the evidence of sight. He advanced, and throwing himself at her feet: 'Suffer me,' said he, in a tremulous voice, 'to disclose to you the sentiments which you have inspired, and to offer you the effusions of a heart filled only with love and admiration.' 'Rise, my lord,' said Julia, moving from her seat with an air of dignity, 'that attitude is neither becoming you to use, or me to suffer. The evening is closing, and Ferdinand will be impatient to see you.',

A plan had come to him in a flash. Whitney was needed and needed in a hurry. He was on the other side of the river valley at the head of the spillway. The opposite cableway tower over there was near this spot—if the buckets could go over, couldn’t he? He’d try anyway!,

“Take great care of this—there is a good deal of money in it—and run down to Tellef’s grandmother with it at once. Say that it comes from Kingthorpe.”,

And Death and Vengeance close the ghastly band!

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'A short time since,' continued the marchioness, 'the marquis brought me a fortnight's provision, and told me that I should probably see him no more till the expiration of that term. His absence at this period you have explained in your account of the transactions at the abbey of St Augustin. How can I ever sufficiently acknowledge the obligations I owe to my dear and invaluable friend Madame de Menon! Oh! that it might be permitted me to testify my gratitude.',

The porch of the cottage was the spot chosen for the talk. When Taylor joined the group Mr. Whitney opened the proceedings.,

“Not so’s you could notice it!” exclaimed Bob indignantly. “I’ve made up my mind but it’s to stay right here!”,

There was once upon a time a little village girl, the prettiest ever seen or known, of whom her mother was dotingly fond. Her grandmother was even fonder of her still, and had a little red hood made for the child, which suited her so well, that wherever she went, she was known by the name of Little Red Riding-Hood.