Anna stood looking down upon her sister with grave perturbed face. Already the seed of a tender dream was stirring. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. It seemed to him that speech would be an anticlimax. 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.
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