"Do not shed more blood," cried the carpenter. ‘Certainly you may have me under guard. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. I fought ten lions at once. 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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