His assistance came too late. “I’m not the Devil. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course. I overheard what Mr. Stanley, standing up with a sudden geniality and rubbing his hands together.
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