A silence ensued. 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. Something insisted that those two were mysteriously linked—that the woman knew the man was there. If you ask me, you’ll have to beat her regularly if you don’t want to live a dog’s life. She is my only family.
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