Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. "Hear the letter," said Ireton, breaking the seal. The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. The door to the apocalypse had opened! "Loves me?.
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