You belong to me, and I have waited long enough. “You are very good,” she said. Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. His hair flew out from the sides of his head like black bats from a belfry, it was unruly and long. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. It was easy for him to see that she desired to be agreeable to him.
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