The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. But don’t run away with the idea that I’m hanging out for a wife at last, because I’m not. He seemed happy with her, finding her proper and seemly. ‘Of course not,’ snapped his friend. When mistress took and died—’ Joan broke off and sighed, moving away to the window.
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