‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. And Charcam, fearful of another charge in his master's present uncertain mood, disappeared. 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.
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