He loved you. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. What’s that?” They both stood listening. Jove, he didn’t take to it kindly, I can tell you. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. 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. ‘You could have fetched me home. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words.
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