Then he sat down and filled his pipe slowly and thoughtfully. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. ” “You and your father?” Lucy asked. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers.
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