D'ye hear. ” He sidled toward her, but she recoiled from him, leaving him in possession of the hearth-rug. ’ ‘Yes, but I’m hanged if I see what your game is. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. ” “Surely,” he protested, “the change is all in favour of your own inclinations. ” 243 She felt a mixture of embarrassment, humiliation, and pride well up in her cheeks, flushing them. "From Mr.
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