The odd creak was not to be avoided in an old house such as this. When they were going home she asked her mother why she and Gwen and Alice had cried. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. I do like to see old friends back here. It’s not a bit of good pretending there’s any Higher Truth or wonderful principle in this business.
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