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. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. His feet would have the firm texture of his hands. Cathy had not even noticed that she herself was wet and trailing water everywhere.
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