Part 2 The next morning was as dark and foggy as if it was mid-November instead of early March. ‘This is not love, Marthe. Then a light seemed to break in upon him. She must not show anything. 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.
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