Advancing to the middle of the chamber, he halted, drew himself up, and fixed his dark, expressive eyes, on Thames Darrell. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. You saw him? You have been to Remenham House?’ ‘Remenham House? I wish I’d been only to Remenham House. It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere.
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