"Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. ” “Delusion!” he muttered, glaring at her. It is only a matter of time before he presents himself to whoever has the deeds to Remenham House—a lawyer I presume—and claims that property for his wife’s. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. But, when? When do they go?’ ‘Today, miss. It creaked slightly.
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