"A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. Mama will be expecting me. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. “You!” she exclaimed. "Done!" cried Shotbolt. "And yet, he has been spared thus long; perhaps with a wise purpose," rejoined Thames.
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