She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. I was compelled to run away. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire.
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