The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. “Stuffy these trees make the Avenue,” said Mr. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. She danced with two others. She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy.
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