And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. Have we not received Lady Bicknacre just this morning? Not to mention the Comtesse de St Erme. Wood, who were, furthermore, engaged in a little conjugal tête-à-tête of their own. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield.
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