No, none at all. The chance had gone. “She cannot be aware,” he continued, “that she is making herself conspicuous. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. The air, perfumed with the delicious fragrance of the new-mown grass, was vocal with the melodies of the birds; the thick foliage of the trees was glistening in the sunshine; all nature seemed happy and rejoicing; but, above all, the serene Sabbath stillness reigning around communicated a calm to her wounded spirit.
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