"Always plenty to spare. Where can I get one?" asked O'Higgins. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. 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. “Then you—you will?” A long pause.
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