The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. "As yet," pursued the stranger, "Sir Montacute had placed no limit to his son's expenditure. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean. Kneebone took his leave. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. ” She replied.
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