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Unformatted text preview: what you have done, Michael, a thousand times. Walk about this house slowly, in and around, laying my hands upon its doorframes and its brass knobs and musing at the paintings in the dining room and the lovely plaster ornament that everywhere decorated its ceilings. Yes, a beautiful house, I thought. Poor Darcy. No wonder his de- signs had been so much the fashion. But he had had no witch's blood I supposed. I suspected my nephews Clay and Vincent were as inno- cent as my brother, Remy. I went out into the gardens. I perceived what had been done, a great octagon of a lawn, with an octagon carved in the stone posts that ended the limestone balustrades. And every- where flagstones at angles, so that one was beset in the moonlight with lines and designs and patterns. "Behold the roses in the iron," said Lasher to me. By this he meant the cast-iron railings. And I saw what he pointed out, lines at angles, echoing the angles of the flags, as well as the roses. He walked with his arm around...
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- Spring '10