What brings you here?” “I’m here to see my uncle. 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. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. I can withstand sunlight. Nor as I’ve to put up with a French spy in my parlour—’ ‘Peste, how you talk,’ interrupted Melusine impatiently, barely taking in his complaints.
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