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All this while we had stood at the window, watching Cydaria's light feet trip across the meadow, and her bonnet swing wantonly in her hand. But now Cydaria disappeared among the trunks of the beech trees. "See, she has gone," said I in a whisper. "She is gone, Mistress Barbara." Barbara understood what I would say, but she was resolved to show me no gentleness.
"I kiss Cydaria's hand," said I. "For in truth I'm sorry for my Cydaria." "She was no other than I am," she whispered, and now with a touch of shame; for she saw that I felt shame for her. "Not what is hurts us, but what we know," said I. "Good-bye, Cydaria," and again I kissed her hand. She drew it away from me and tossed her head, crying angrily: "I wish I hadn't told you."
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