” They loitered under trees, they sat on mossy banks they gossiped on friendly benches, they came back to lunch at the “Star and Garter,” and talked their afternoon away in the garden that looks out upon the crescent of the river. ‘Lord,’ he uttered, glancing about with a disparaging eye. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. She began to draw on her gloves thoughtfully. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother.
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