7. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. Her mind went on generalizing. “Have some more port wine, sir?” “It’s a very sound wine,” said Mr. Miss Stanley walked round the garden thinking, and presently house and garden reverberated to Ann Veronica’s slamming of the front door. I’ve never wanted to get away so much. The fatal shower, from which he and his little charge escaped uninjured, had stricken his assailant and precipitated him into the boiling gulf. He roused curiosities. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him.
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