There were groves of cultivated guava, orange, lemon, and pomegranate. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. ‘Oh, I don’t wish to marry you. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled.
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