Once over the iron spikes, Bess exhibited no reluctance to be let down on the other side of the wall. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. She had never been there before at that hour, in that light, and it seemed to her as if she came to it all for the first time. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured.
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