” For a fraction of a second the two young men hesitated. ” “Then he—and Paris—lied,” Ennison answered. No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse.
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