“You, too,” he said abruptly. I mystify you; I can see that. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. He grew even harder. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. She laid her hand upon his arm. “I haven’t seen the new Patience, dear,” she said.
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