‘I am far from imagining anything of the kind. 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. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. There was nothing to replace the all important letter from her father. ‘You have no need to be afraid of us. “I had no idea that it was so abominably late. Loneliness.
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