A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY. F. She glanced into his face. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. It warms me, and lights me, and fills my world with flowers. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. No matter. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid.
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