The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. 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. Her neck was smeared with red and remorse flooded him. Come!” They went out together and he called a hansom.
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