The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. "It's of no use," observed Thames quietly, but with a look that chilled the little damsel's heart;—"my resolution is taken. . "And the Marchioness is your daughter," added Thames. Wood, reproachfully, as they returned to the parlour. ’ ‘That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. Not so Gosse. “I do not like to seem inhospitable, Anna,” she said hesitatingly.
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