“Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. This roof is still open to you. Didn’t I say that this whole business of your camping in Remenham House was the one aspect I could not puzzle out?’ ‘You are very clever, monsieur Gérard,’ she conceded, although Gerald was amused by the grudging note, ‘but in truth it is not yet my house. It was obviously pitched well, hitting her head at a good thirtyfive miles per hour. " "Or the flat stones in the meadows, teeming with life underneath. “Rubbish!” he answered.
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