“My God!” and ceased to move. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. "But don't ever let me see them again. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies.
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