She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. “I don’t see why not,” he answered. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. We two just love each other—the real, identical other—all the time. ‘But you are idiot. He would give The Tigress a triple coat of paint, and take these two on a long cruise, wherever they wanted to go—Roundhead and Seraph, the blunderbus and the flaming angel.
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