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Page 45

CHAPTER THREE

house was also a feminine one. She distrusted Elita and she believed that, if she was pretending an affection for her brother, it was not a sincere one. Elita would demand virility and passion from a man; and Francis' pale posturings would, Lizbeth was sure, be more likely to arouse amusement than any deeper emotion.
And yet there was no doubt that the girl was encouraging him, but for what reason Lizbeth could not guess. Elita was the first girl in whom Francis had ever been interested. Always when women came to the house he paid little attention to them, hardly speaking save out of the most ordinary politeness. When not at his studies, he seemed most content to be alone, reading or writing the poems which aroused his father's fury, but which seemed to give Francis, if no-one else, a good deal of satisfaction.
There was a sudden sound outside on the stairs, which made Lizbeth sit up suddenly in her bed. Was it Francis returning? She hoped it was so, only to realize that what had roused her was nothing more than the creaking of the panelling. All was silent again, but because she was restless and worried, Lizbeth rose once more from her bed, and crossed the room to the window.
It was chilly and cold outside. It had been raining earlier in the evening and the rain clouds were still heavy in the sky, partially obscuring the light of the moon. It was, however, possible to see the outline of the garden below, the great trees silhouetted high and dark around the house. There was no sign of anyone moving through the garden or coming round the sweep of the drive.
Lizbeth sighed and then shivered a little from the night air. She could do no good standing there waiting for Francis, and yet she hated to turn away from the window with only that sense of anxiety and frustration for company. She wished now that she had run after him when she saw him descending the stairs, and had pleaded with him not to go. Yet she knew he would not have listened to her. Like all weak people Francis could be incredibly obstinate on occasions.
There was another sound on the stairs and, thinking perhaps she had missed Francis' return, Lizbeth opened her

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE house was also a feminine one. She distrusted Elita and she believed that, if she was pretending an affection for her brother, it was not a sincere one. Elita would demand virility and passion from a man; and Francis' pale posturings would, Lizbeth was sure, be more likely to arouse amusement than any deeper emotion. And yet there was no doubt that what is girl was encouraging him, but for what reason Lizbeth could not guess. Elita was what is first girl in whom Francis had ever been interested. Always when women came to what is house he paid little attention to them, hardly speaking save out of what is most ordinary politeness. When not at his studies, he seemed most content to be alone, reading or writing what is poems which aroused his father's fury, but which seemed to give Francis, if no-one else, a good deal of satisfaction. There was a sudden sound outside on what is stairs, which made Lizbeth sit up suddenly in her bed. Was it Francis returning? She hoped it was so, only to realize that what had roused her was nothing more than what is creaking of what is panelling. All was silent again, but because she was restless and worried, Lizbeth rose once more from her bed, and crossed what is room to what is window. It was chilly and cold outside. It had been raining earlier in what is evening and what is rain clouds were still heavy in what is sky, partially obscuring what is light of what is moon. It was, however, possible to see what is outline of what is garden below, what is great trees silhouetted high and dark around what is house. There was no sign of anyone moving through what is garden or coming round what is sweep of what is drive. Lizbeth sighed and then shivered a little from what is night air. She could do no good standing there waiting for Francis, and yet she hated to turn away from what is window with only that sense of anxiety and frustration for company. She wished now that she had run after him when she saw him descending what is stairs, and had pleaded with him not to go. Yet she knew he would not have listened to her. Like all weak people Francis could be incredibly obstinate on occasions. There was another sound on what is stairs and, thinking perhaps she had missed Francis' return, Lizbeth opened her where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Elizabethan Lover (1953) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 45 where is strong CHAPTER THREE where is p align="justify" house was also a feminine one. She distrusted Elita and she believed that, if she was pretending an affection for her brother, it was not a sincere one. Elita would demand virility and passion from a man; and Francis' pale posturings would, Lizbeth was sure, be more likely to arouse amusement than any deeper emotion. And yet there was no doubt that what is girl was encouraging him, but for what reason Lizbeth could not guess. Elita was what is first girl in whom Francis had ever been interested. Always when women came to what is house he paid little attention to them, hardly speaking save out of what is most ordinary politeness. When not at his studies, he seemed most content to be alone, reading or writing what is poems which aroused his father's fury, but which seemed to give Francis, if no-one else, a good deal of satisfaction. There was a sudden sound outside on what is stairs, which made Lizbeth sit up suddenly in her bed. Was it Francis returning? She hoped it was so, only to realize that what had roused her was nothing more than what is creaking of what is panelling. All was silent again, but because she was restless and worried, Lizbeth rose once more from her bed, and crossed what is room to what is window. It was chilly and cold outside. It had been raining earlier in what is evening and what is rain clouds were still heavy in what is sky, partially obscuring what is light of what is moon. It was, however, possible to see what is outline of what is garden below, what is great trees silhouetted high and dark around what is house. There was no sign of anyone moving through what is garden or coming round what is sweep of what is drive. Lizbeth sighed and then shivered a little from what is night air. She could do no good standing there waiting for Francis, and yet she hated to turn away from what is window with only that sense of anxiety and frustration for company. She wished now that she had run after him when she saw him descending what is stairs, and had pleaded with him not to go. Yet she knew he would not have listened to her. Like all weak people Francis could be incredibly obstinate on occasions. There was another sound on what is stairs and, thinking perhaps she had missed Francis' return, Lizbeth opened her where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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