” “In Paris, I think,” Ennison answered. Lucy’s cool. “Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. You sent back my Christmas checks. Well, I don’t think that’s fair.
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