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Part 6 They spent the next Sunday in Richmond Park, and mingled the happy sensation of being together uninterruptedly through the long sunshine of a summer’s day with the ample discussion of their position. Too much, perhaps. One day it was gone. She had not been sufficiently prompted in relation to the ways of caravansaries; but her mind had been alert and receptive. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. Gosse! Dieu du ciel, but how did he get into the convent? She had perforce to obey his command, for speech was impossible. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. Kneebone made no effort to check the unreasonable merriment of his companions, but rather seemed to encourage it. “Be so good as to stand away from that door at once, sir,” Brendon ordered. If this is the young lady, she can perhaps calm him. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon.
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