“By Jove!” he exclaimed. ‘Be quiet, man,’ snapped Hilary, watching the Frenchman go by with the lad after him. Smith's melody had subsided. That was the only sound he heard. Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. That I should be challenged by you of all people. ‘Not where we’re going.
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