’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. She nibbled at his neck gently, sweetly, as her hand tracing his chest. Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. It was impulsive and natural. He found the horse where Thames told him he would find him, mounted, and rode off across the fields in the direction of town.
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