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have found it agreeable to take a sentimental saunter in the shrubbery.

They have become mighty intimate. Who could have thought it?

Vanity, as well as a city shower, occasions many strange acquaintances.

But of a kind less transient. They do not part at the mouth of a shed or gateway, and meet again no more.

Not always; but in the present instance the resemblance will hold good, even in this respect.

I fear you deceive yourself.

I believe I do not; but I will not be positive. You know Clermont better than I do.

I thought I knew him; but I was mistaken.

You are grave, Mr. Clermont, and I trace