“I see nothing of my sister,” she said. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. Shari smiled and Mike whispered to her. ‘—and what do I do? Well, we know what I do. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness.
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