“I won’t have you quarrelling and crying in the Avenue,” he said. When she spoke, her lips twitched. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. . Bordered by fine timber, the road occasionally offered glimpses of a lovely valley, until a wider opening gave a full view of a delightful and varied prospect.
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