Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. She pulled herself together and put her eye to the eye-piece. “Is Miss Stanley coming up with us?” “I go second,” she said, “and change at Wimbledon. She had remained patently unavailable to him. I know all.
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