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"I do not see him. From the centre of the ceiling hung a replica of the temple lamp in the Taj Mahal. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. “Very well,” she would say, “then I must go. ‘All this gadding about. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight.
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