She was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with spasms and short breath, and swoonings,—worse than ever she was before. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. There was a look in her eyes which puzzled him. You tonic my liver and you tonic my soul. ‘That was one of my own clever stories. ’ A sudden thought brought a frown to her brow.
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