If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. I learned of your betrothal, gleaned all the information I could simply by eavesdropping. Mind you don't stir till supper's over.
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