In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. " "You'd better take care of your mother's son instead," rejoined Blueskin. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. Stanley, “Mr. ” Courtlaw turned abruptly to Brendon. Strangers look in and long, and neighbours are moved to envy. "As yet," pursued the stranger, "Sir Montacute had placed no limit to his son's expenditure.
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