"Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. Jonathan looked in that direction, and beheld the fugitives riding off in triumph. Ruth's eyes were wet, but she saw light everywhere: the room was filled with celestial aura. Love—admiration for your matchless beauty alone sways me. Its heroes never had daughters, they borrowed other people’s. “Dear me!” he said.
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