The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. “My dear,” the letter ran, “I have to tell you that your sister Gwen has offended your father very much. If I were Mr. Those I don’t mind, though, the games. Flowers, theatre boxes, carriages, the “open sesame” to the whole world of pleasure. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. ‘And you come to me, thinking yourself half French, and expect me to take you in. He was by no means certain that she would not in fact attempt to blow off his head as she had threatened.
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