They were so nearly alike that the difference would be due to a shaky hand. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. He shrieked with agony, and clung with desperate tenacity to the roughened stones.
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