"Who've you got with you?" demanded the Amazon, boldly. They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. We stepped from the Embassy into the motor—and oh! I thought that he was dead. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. ‘That’s my pet name. This path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile.
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