Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. 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. You don’t want to miss the sport.
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