. 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. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ snapped Roding, with an odd look at his bride to be that Gerald could not interpret. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed.
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