Wood in the deepest mourning. 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. ‘You’re not going to kill me this time. “He fancied that he did,” she corrected him coolly. CHAPTER XIV. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. . “I want a vote for myself,” she said. . Yet before she turned once more to resume her flight she schooled herself with an effort to look where it had happened. . They will guess that I am English.
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