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Updated: May 16, 2025
But that night, as he lay sleepless in their quiet room, with the window open to the stars and to the rising gusts of wind, which blew the petals of the cluster-rose outside in drifts of 'fair weather snow' on to the window-sill, he went through an agony which no words can adequately describe. He must, of course, give up his living and his orders.
"On her past sins; and preparing new ones." "For shame! She is no worse than we are. Do you really admire Islip?" "Indeed I do, if this is Islip?" "It is then; and this cottage with the cluster-rose tree all over the walls is Marks's cottage. We are rather proud of Marks's cottage," said she, timidly. "It is a bower," said he, warmly.
The sunlit stream curved under them, moving clear and quiet over depths of brown, tangled water-growths, and along its fringe of gray and green reeds and grasses and creamy plumes of meadow-sweet. The house was not very large. It was square and white; an old wistaria, an old Gloire-de-Dijon, and a newer carmine cluster-rose contended for possession of its surface.
But that night, as he lay sleepless in their quiet room, with the window open to the stars and to the rising gusts of wind, which blow the petals of the cluster-rose outside in drifts of 'fair weather snow' on to the window-sill, he went through an agony which no words can adequately describe. He must, of course, give up his living and his Orders.
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