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. But how to avail himself of it was the question, for in his present garb he was sure to be recognised. C. ‘Silence,’ hissed a voice in French. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. "Jack," said Mrs.
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