But he may remain with you if he pleases: I sha'n't hinder him. There's my thumb upon it. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue.
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