The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble. “The wrappered life-discipline! One comes to that at last. But it was clear she was in no mood for Teddys. I keep my finger on the pulse of things. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks.
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