Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. ‘You! Tell this fool who is the keeper here to come to me at once. Did you hear us through the archway, talking cookery?” They went up by the lift in silence. Like the Valades, I imagine.
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