They had changed identities absolutely. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. The militia were in already. He had been very easy or she had been very lucky. “I wouldn’t have been without this trip for worlds. ‘Yes, very rude,’ agreed the major. But Miss Stanley took no notice of these things. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. Admire her as much as you choose—at a distance. I’m going up to London with the Widgetts to that ball.
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