E. 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. "From Lady Trafford's, where I took the box. He had only been prevented, indeed, by a fear of Mrs. Michelle was only a junior, the same year as herself. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. I want to stand between you and all the force and vileness of the world.
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