Mr. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. Mr.
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