She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. . Her cogitations were dissipated by a knock on the door. Then we can look out together for such employment—as would be more suitable for you. She could feel her face turning beet red. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. She met his older brother and played another short violin recital, much to the delight of 178 John’s immediate family. The tables were then cleared.
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