"No friend like the mother, for the babby knows no other. 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. He was still thickly clad in jeans. You only mean a secret for a little time?” “Just for a little time,” she said; “yes.
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