‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. 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. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. "Your wife?" "His lawful wife," said Ruth, with fine dignity. ’ Gerald controlled a quivering lip.
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