He got up brusquely. 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. She must be beautiful, but beauty is only the beginning. To-morrow I am going to Paris. ‘Then it must certainly be Eugénie. In the floor were set four ring-bolts, about nine feet apart. The man had favoured him with a brief nod, but the girl had gone so far as to offer a tiny smile, and a look under her lashes with which not even Gerald, for all his scant interest in female society, could fail to be familiar. John knew better.
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