The oaken beam, nine inches in thickness, was now the sole but most formidable obstacle to his flight. “Why should it matter?” he said. “Then I will do what I can,” Anna promised. “I wonder—I wonder if we shall ever get like that. 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.
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