“I’m sorry I told you that, Michelle. 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. “It is no good playing a game. As for my past, Michelle, and Michael’s, it is a book of woeful chapters better left unread. Well, I shall be sorry to lose him, Mr.
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