” She whispered. " Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her. Besides—there is Sir John. She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. You yourself, I am sure, recognize how impossible you have made it for me now to do anything of the sort.
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