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We are not sure of that, even yet. We are still engaged, as a
committee of two, in our philosophical investigation, and we decline
to make anything but a report of progress. We know more now than we
did when we first went honeymooning in the city of Washington. For
one thing, we are certain that not even the far-famed rosemary-fields
of Narbonne, or the fragrant hillsides of the Corbieres,
yield a sweeter harvest to the busy-ness of the bees than the
Norwegian meadows and mountain-slopes yielded to our idleness in the
summer of 1888.
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