Explore "The Black Abbot" by Edgar Wallace on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
She leaned on the gray stone balustrade and looked down upon the wind-stirred tresses of great golden chrysanthemums, each as big as a large-sized saucer. They were not all gold; there were deep red blooms and snowy white and flaming orange, and beyond them a huge bed of late-flowering roses; even from this distance, she could catch the delicate fragrance of them.
"It's a beautiful old place," she said in a hushed voice. "I don't wonder that you love it. How long has your family owned this estate, Dick?"