’ ‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace. She had come to the end of her resources. \" \"All right. Spurling. An ordinary type, of course—” Mrs. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. This also struck her as odd. ” They loitered under trees, they sat on mossy banks they gossiped on friendly benches, they came back to lunch at the “Star and Garter,” and talked their afternoon away in the garden that looks out upon the crescent of the river.
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