” “The good God!” Anna murmured, herself shaken with fear. 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. Anna leaned forward, watching the people in the streets. EPOCH THE FIRST, 1703. He groaned, much to Melusine’s relief. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you.
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