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"You can easily hire a good horse here, but I have one of my own, Selim. Nearly every afternoon I ride." "Were you riding the day before yesterday?" Dion asked. "Yes, in the Kesstane Dereh, or Valley of Roses, as many people call it." "Were you alone?" "Yes." Dion had thought of the cantering horse which he had heard in the lane as he sat beside the stream. He felt sure it was Selim he had heard.
Whatever she had been till now, she had certainly never been a weak woman, except perhaps from the absurd point of view of the Exeter Hall moralist. Scruples had been strangers to her, a baggage she had not burdened herself with on her journey. Jimmy! That night Dion Leith had told her that he had seen the eyes of his boy in the stream that flowed through the Kesstane Dereh.
"Remember this; I never saw him till I saw him in Turkey, nor did my husband. We were not able to draw any comparison between the unhappy man and the happy man. We were unprejudiced." "I quite understand that; thank you." "It was in the summer. We were living at Therapia on the Bosporus. He came to stay in a hotel not far off. My husband met him in a valley which the Turks call Kesstane Dereh.
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