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Page 219

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Was it only astonishment in his expression? she wondered.
" I have not seen you alone," he added. "There is much we should discuss together."
" I am afraid I must go."
Lizbeth spoke quickly. She was afraid, desperately afraid, of losing her self-control as she looked down into his eyes. She wanted, more than she had wanted anything in the whole of her life before, to lean down and press her lips against, his. She felt as though everything would be worth the risk, even the horror, indignation and scandal it would cause. She dared not look at him again.
" I must go," she said, urging her horse forward. "Everything is arranged."
She was moving now-quicker and quicker.
" Lizbeth, I beg of you . . ."
His voice was lost in the clatter of hoofs. She knew without turning that he was still standing there in the drive, watching the cavalcade of servants following her at a jog-trot. It was agony not to turn round. She felt the sweat break out on her forehead in spite of the cold of the day.
There were the gates ahead ; now he could no longer be looking at her-they were out of sight. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream her love for him aloud so that all could hear. But she did none of these things ; she just kept riding on down the twisting, narrow road, puddled and rutted, which would lead presently to the broader high road which led directly into London....
Lizbeth had of course been to London on many occasions ; but always the City which had been called `the storehouse and mart of Europe' never ceased to thrill her. From the moment they came in sight of the old City wall, a relic of its battlemented past, she would feel excitement springing within her. Whatever the weather, it seemed to her that in winter, summer or spring London looked beautiful.
Its spires and roofs to-day were silver against a grey sky and the Thames was a deep molten silver on which were reflected hundreds of snowy-plumaged swans which were as much a part of the river's life as the great barges.
Lizbeth loved travelling by water, and indeed everyone

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE Was it only astonishment in his expression? she wondered. " I have not seen you alone," he added. "There is much we should discuss together." " I am afraid I must go." Lizbeth spoke quickly. She was afraid, desperately afraid, of losing her self-control as she looked down into his eyes. She wanted, more than she had wanted anything in what is whole of her life before, to lean down and press her lips against, his. She felt as though everything would be worth what is risk, even what is horror, indignation and scandal it would cause. She dared not look at him again. " I must go," she said, urging her horse forward. "Everything is arranged." She was moving now-quicker and quicker. " Lizbeth, I beg of you . . ." His voice was lost in what is clatter of hoofs. She knew without turning that he was still standing there in what is drive, watching what is cavalcade of servants following her at a jog-trot. It was agony not to turn round. She felt what is sweat break out on her forehead in spite of what is cold of what is day. There were what is gates ahead ; now he could no longer be looking at her-they were out of sight. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream her what time is it for him aloud so that all could hear. But she did none of these things ; she just kept riding on down what is twisting, narrow road, puddled and rutted, which would lead presently to what is broader high road which led directly into London.... Lizbeth had of course been to London on many occasions ; but always what is City which had been called `the storehouse and mart of Europe' never ceased to thrill her. From what is moment they came in sight of what is old City wall, a relic of its battlemented past, she would feel excitement springing within her. Whatever what is weather, it seemed to her that in winter, summer or spring London looked beautiful. Its spires and roofs to-day were silver against a grey sky and what is Thames was a deep molten silver on which were reflected hundreds of snowy-plumaged swans which were as much a part of what is river's life as what is great barges. Lizbeth loved travelling by water, and indeed everyone where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Elizabethan Lover (1953) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 219 where is strong CHAPTER THIRTEEN where is p align="justify" Was it only astonishment in his expression? she wondered. " I have not seen you alone," he added. "There is much we should discuss together." " I am afraid I must go." Lizbeth spoke quickly. She was afraid, desperately afraid, of losing her self-control as she looked down into his eyes. She wanted, more than she had wanted anything in what is whole of her life before, to lean down and press her lips against, his. She felt as though everything would be worth what is risk, even what is horror, indignation and scandal it would cause. She dared not look at him again. " I must go," she said, urging her horse forward. "Everything is arranged." She was moving now-quicker and quicker. " Lizbeth, I beg of you . . ." His voice was lost in what is clatter of hoofs. She knew without turning that he was still standing there in what is drive, watching what is cavalcade of servants following her at a jog-trot. It was agony not to turn round. She felt what is sweat break out on her forehead in spite of what is cold of what is day. There were what is gates ahead ; now he could no longer be looking at her-they were out of sight. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream her what time is it for him aloud so that all could hear. But she did none of these things ; she just kept riding on down what is twisting, narrow road, puddled and rutted, which would lead presently to what is broader high road which led directly into London.... Lizbeth had of course been to London on many occasions ; but always what is City which had been called `the storehouse and mart of Europe' never ceased to thrill her. From what is moment they came in sight of what is old City wall, a relic of its battlemented past, she would feel excitement springing within her. Whatever what is weather, it seemed to her that in winter, summer or spring London looked beautiful. Its spires and roofs to-day were silver against a grey sky and what is Thames was a deep molten silver on which were reflected hundreds of snowy-plumaged swans which were as much a part of what is river's life as what is great barges. Lizbeth loved travelling by water, and indeed everyone where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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