He savored the last solo, the coda. During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years. It seemed to him that speech would be an anticlimax. ’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought. The man’s passion was infectious. They sold him the whisky. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring.
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