They walked back to 118 hand in hand. He backed away from her. ‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. 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. "To—to—no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. At least here she was safe. "He left an envelope with some money in it. I said I’d make shirts.
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