‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. "And the next time Captain Darrell wants a witness, I promise you he shan't look for one in vain.
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