She laughed nervously, but kept her eyes averted. Her father had determined on a new line. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. ‘Charvill?’ uttered Roding frowningly.
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