An Englishwoman. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. At once. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr.
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