” “Not worth the trouble. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. "What for?" demanded Wood. Beneath that tree let us lie. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. "Sir Rowland must be gone. A knot of three policemen in conflict with her staggered toward Ann Veronica’s attendants and distracted their attention. ‘But I have the pistol,’ Gerald pointed out. I received a telegram, as you know, during dinner. She rolled to one side. 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.
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