Mr. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. ‘Hang it all, Mrs Sindlesham is right! You are two of a kind. ’ ‘The horse?’ echoed Melusine. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind.
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