Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. " "The same who was here just now?" "No, Sir Rowland, a much finer boy. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his.
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