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"I am afraid you went to almost the worst part of Ireland," says Mona, shaking her head. "New Pallas, and all round Limerick, is so dreadfully disloyal." Overcome by the heat of the fire, her luncheon, and the blessed certainty that for this one day at least no one is to be admitted to her presence, Lady Rodney has given herself up a willing victim to the child Somnus. Her book—that amiable assistant of all those that court siestas—has fallen to the ground. Her cap is somewhat awry. Her mouth is partly open, and a snore—gentle, indeed, but distinct and unmistakable—comes from her patrician throat. "Tell me again how it all happened," he says, laying his hands on her shoulders. And then she goes through it again, slowly, carefully..
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Under the sun!' "I hope you had your hat on," says Lady Rodney, presently, in a severe tone, meant to cover the defeat. She had once seen Mona with the crimson silk handkerchief on her head,—Irish fashion,—and had expressed her disapproval of all such uncivilized headdresses. "Come in for a little while and rest yourself," says Mona, hospitably, "while I get the brandy and send it up to poor Kitty." Rodney, standing beside her, watches her anxiously. She throws up her head, and pushes back her hair, and strains her eyes eagerly into the darkness, that not all the moonbeams can make less than night..
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