” “My God!” said Manning, in a stage-aside. ’ The Mother Abbess—and indeed all the nuns, some of higher birth more fearful than others—were aghast at the horrors that had befallen the family Valade. I should never have noticed the miniature at all, if it hadn't been for him. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. Perhaps marriage hurt. 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. They vanished through the doorway. ‘Not entirely English then.
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