Love anywhere. Before the Monroes I was placed with a single woman, Leslie Cavendish. “Where am I?” he muttered. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. “It is very doubtful,” he said. ‘They cannot be worse than mine in English, monsieur.
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