“So it’s like you’re a dead end?” He asked innocently. “Why not?” “Because you are mine. 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. ‘Martha was my wet-nurse? But she is unmarried. " "And why not, old saltwater?" inquired Ben, turning a quid in his mouth. Her disapproval was obvious enough.
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