The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. “I’ve been to hear you lots of times. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. In a moment they were in the street outside. They are rather a long way off, but you could write to them.
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