” It was a tiny little room, daintily furnished, individual in its quaint colouring, and the masses of perfumed flowers set in strange and unexpected places. Down that on the right the young culprit was dragged—along that on the left a fainting woman was borne in the arms of several females. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. Wood. Those were great tricks that you pulled with the car and the glass, but why shouldn’t I believe that this has all been an elaborate hoax?” He asked. "As yet," pursued the stranger, "Sir Montacute had placed no limit to his son's expenditure.
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