” “DUSTING!” said Miss Miniver, in a sepulchral voice. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. ’ ‘Pah! How can it be romantic? That is silly. ' So I go to Patagonia. But, no. Mr. Lights glimmered in the windows of the different houses; and a lamp-lighter was running from post to post on his way to Snow Hill.
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