‘Don’t try to turn it off,’ ordered Miss Froxfield. Do you remember when we went right away, Nigel, and forgot everything? We went down the river past Veraz, and the larks were singing all over those deep brown fields, and the river further on wound its way like a coil of silver across the rich meadowland, and along the hillside vineyards. It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat. Their conversation hung. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. You have to marry me. She knew that the stairs they had to negotiate to the vestry were extremely narrow, and she had made her plans.
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