He kept his keen eyes steadily fixed on Thames, as if awaiting to be addressed. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. I shall still wear your favor—even if it is a stolen and forbidden favor—in my casque.
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