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Updated: May 10, 2025
Towards the middle of October Nevil Aston, just in the midst of a period of blissful laziness, sauntered down the long walks of the south garden in Renata's wake, occasionally stopping to pick up one or other of the two fat babies who struggled along after their mother, interrupting more or less effectually the business on which she was engaged.
But it was not Renata that Christopher wanted. "Where is Patricia?" he questioned with more truth. "Upstairs in her room, I think. She seems rather worried and tired, Christopher. Do you want her?" There was a note of anxiety in Renata's gentle voice.
He found her sitting on the floor at Renata's feet, the latter fussing over her with matronly joy and sisterly love, and talking inconsequently between times of Charlotte, with what would appear to an outsider irrelevance of the first order.
But even under the banter the colour died from her face and her hand fell listlessly to her side. "I won't allow you to be older than I am." She was saved further embarrassment by Renata's entrance, but all dinner time she was conscious of his silent "awareness" of her and was troubled by it, and it was a new and unpleasing sensation to be troubled by any attitude of Christopher's.
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