“In Paris our lives were far apart, and we had seldom the same friends. 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. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. \" They talked until midnight most nights. ” She glanced out of the window, and the distant trees were a froth of hard spring green and almond blossom. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. ‘You have said you do not wish to marry me,’ she accused.
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