The man muttered something inaudible, and gathered up the reins. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. It is picturesquely situated beneath a tree on the high road, not far from the little hostel before mentioned, and at no great distance from the church. She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband.
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