To have written a short story in a week was rather a remarkable feat. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. " "Oh! certainly," answered Griffin; "certainly. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose.
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