"Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. ’ A peal of delighted laughter greeted this threat. Ah, Thierry and Poussaint, if my memory serves me. 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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