Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. Wow. " He shifted the pages together, rolled and thrust them under her arm. At least here she was safe. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew. I too can see it. The ball passed over his head, and lodged in the ceiling. ‘He had run away with a Frenchwoman, you see, but Everett Charvill—I refer to the general—took care to conceal the matter.
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