She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. She had never thought of him at all in that way before. At least I can give you a glimmer.
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