" The phrase was new, but Ruth nodded understandingly. "Lord, if I can only remember to write it exactly as you told it!" He jumped to his feet. 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. There was—a service. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. Ann Veronica blushed. It was a moment before he recognised that the effect had been similar on all those present, including General Lord Charvill. Some of the lunatics were rattling their chains; some shrieking; some singing; some beating with frantic violence against the doors.
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