Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair. My goodness gracious. Most of their relics are in yonder cases; but I don't remember that any of them have disturbed my rest. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed. "Has Jack displeased you? If so, overlook his fault this once. There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment. His kind eyes were puffy with fatigue.
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