. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. He was alarmed when she returned to the stage and her eyes passed over him in the audience. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered.
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