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'Lady Dunstane calls you Tony. 'She is my dearest and oldest friend. 'You and I don't count by years. You are the dearest to me on earth, Tony! She debated as to forbidding that name. The moment's pause wrapped her in a mental hurricane, out of which she came with a heart stopped, her olive cheeks ashen-hued. She had seen that the step was possible. 'Oh! Percy, Percy, are we mad? 'Not mad.
"Come out and play croquet, Bluebell," said she; "the children are having a game; they only let me go on condition of bringing you," and she led the way through the window into a charming garden, with large shady maple-trees just beginning to drop their deep-dyed, variegated leaves on the turf; the bluebirds were already gone, but the red and ashen-hued robin, nearly the size of a jay, still rustled through the boughs.
He saw now that, she bore some facial resemblance to Miss Squibb. She was not, as that lady was, ashen-hued, but her eyes, though less prominently, bulged. This must be Lizzie!... "Who are you?" he asked, as she turned to leave the room. "Eih?" "What's your name? I've not seen you before!" "Naow," she exclaimed, "I've been awy! I'm Lizzie. 'Er niece!"
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