Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. Indeed, she did not want to think of him as loving her. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. Ten days should see you on your feet. You can come back for these, for you’ll carry him to the gatehouse, that’s what you’ll do. I want to know more about her.
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