Your account of it throws on it the only ray of elucidation I have yet seen , in the festoony or ripply waves of the sand
His sides are clothed with waving wood.
Ma petite fleur! Annette said softly. Fleur, repeated Soames: Fleur! we'll call her that.
Ma petite fleur!
Fleur,
Fleur! we'll call her that.
I was on a horse named The Skipper, a perfect terror to ride when he was in a bad humour, which he invariably was; nevertheless he was a splendid hunter and I never crabbed him.
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