“But for you Dad would never have let me marry Lescelles. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. The gardens were tidy and geometric, each avenue with a different purpose: flowers for cutting, herbs, brightly colored vegetables. This unexpected interpolation might spoil the efficacy of all that had gone before. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand.
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