There, after protestations of friendliness and helpfulness that were almost ardent, he mounted a little clumsily and rode off at an amiable pace, looking his best, making a leg with his riding gaiters, smiling and saluting, while Ann Veronica turned northward and so came to Micklechesil. "Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered.
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