Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. And what was singular she did not recount to the doctor that morning's adventure. The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. "You soon shall," rejoined Sheppard. He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness. She smiled encouragingly, laying aside her plate and turning her chair from the table. They laughed and talked and stared about them.
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