She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. Her voice recalled him. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. To her satisfaction, the captain reddened a trifle. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. Mr.
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