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. “Yeah. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. He had conveyed it to her, not verbally, but by means of a letter, which seemed to her a singularly ignoble method of prohibition. ” The corners of her lips rose along with her eyebrows. ‘Might have forgiven him,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘if he hadn’t taken the babe.
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