Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. "No Blueskin, I perceive, Sir," he observed, in a deferential tone, as Wild entered the Lodge. “You know nothing about the stage. “Idiot!” She raged inwardly while she walked along with that air of self-contained serenity that is proper to a young lady of nearly two-and-twenty under the eye of the world. I'll be at the Cross Shovels in the course of the day. She would meet him upon this ground: he should never be given the slightest hint that she was unhappy.
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