America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. She still kicked herself for it. ’ He glanced at the portrait behind her. "Don't be angry with me, Thames," continued Sheppard, in a tone calculated, as he thought, to appease his companion's indignation. I’ve never met any one like you. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon.
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