Beneath that tree let us lie. "No, I shan't," replied Rachel, saucily. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. As he entered the shop, a tall portly personage advanced to meet him, whom he at once recognised as the present proprietor. And then—this sudden thrust. John Sheppard. She ought to be softened and tender and confidential at this phase of her life. To-night we leave for Marseilles.
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