“Until you marry, Vee,” said Hetty. "If any one's to blame, it's me. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. "I see him!—row for your life!" "That's the way to miss him, master," replied Ben coolly. Her mind wandered back to that fateful day. Gay," he added, turning to the poet. " "Nonsense," returned Jonathan gruffly. Her impressions of this cardinal ceremony were rich and confused, complicated by a quite transitory passion that awakened no reciprocal fire for a fat curly headed cousin in black velveteen and a lace collar, who assisted as a page. The entrance was concealed between two huge boulders within a clump of trees, and was now so overgrown that no one who did not know of its existence could ever hope to find it. Not up here, I think. Things happen out this way.
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