"Geoffrey," says Mona, in a low tone, slipping her hand into his in a half-shamed fashion, "I have five hundred pounds of my own, would it—would it be of any use to Sir Nicholas?",
"I never saw anything so clean as the walks," says Mona, presently: "there is not a leaf or a weed to be seen, yet we have gone through so many of them. How does she manage it?",
"No, she didn't," interposes he, lightly. "She never funked it for a moment: she's got any amount of pluck. He didn't exactly press it against her forehead, you know; but," airily, "it is all the same thing.".
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