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Updated: May 18, 2025
Here Cytherea bade her a hurried adieu, and flitted down the garden into the lane. She persevered in her duties with a wayward pleasure in giving herself misery, as was her wont. Mr. Springrove's name was next on the list, and she turned towards his dwelling, the Three Tranters Inn.
Sunday morning had come, and Owen was trudging over the six miles of hill and dale that lay between Tolchurch and Carriford. Edward Springrove's answer to the last letter, after expressing his amazement at the strange contradiction between the verses and Mrs. Morris's letter, had been to the effect that he had again visited the neighbour of the dead Mr.
It was a sad time for Cytherea the last day of Springrove's management at Gradfield's, and the last evening before his return from Budmouth to his father's house, previous to his departure for London.
He held up a large envelope, directed in Edward Springrove's handwriting: The letter-box was scooped in an oak gate-post about a foot square.
'Well, she may possibly love you still, he said, as if rather in doubt as to the truth of his words. Springrove's countenance instantly saddened; he had expected a simple 'Yes, at the very least. He continued in a tone of greater depression
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