" "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples. ” He put his hands on her shoulders and lowered her onto the flat surface of the picnic bench. Mind, I, Baptist Kettleby, say so. 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. She had lost her sense of direction, and was among unfamiliar streets.
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