But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous. "A storm!" exclaimed the landlord. Arrived in the plantation she sat down with her back against a tree trunk. 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. "Have you sent off the note?" inquired Jack. His idea was to get behind this sustained listlessness.
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