The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. Heaven will not permit the continuance of such wickedness as you practise. " "I hope such a thing never will happen again, my dear," observed Wood, mildly, "but, when it does, it will be time to consider what course we ought to pursue.
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