Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. ‘Very well,’ he said, lowering his own weapon. “I will be off,” she declared. Don’t you think? Tum, tay, tum, tay. Giles's round-house on my own responsibility. ‘I wish you joy of the wench.
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