’ ‘I presume you were not with her in France?’ Kimble stared. “Why not?” “Because you are mine. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. She walked with an easy quickness down the Avenue and through the proletarian portion of Morningside Park, and crossing these fields came into a pretty overhung lane that led toward Caddington and the Downs. That's the only fault I know of.
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