“No, Lucy, it isn’t fine and I am sorry. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. He would get very cross one evening and no one would dare to remind him of it. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. " "I am almost afraid to utter it," said Kneebone; "but Thames Darrell is murdered. There was going to be no quarter between these two.
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