Only last night she saw me, and there was horror in her eyes. “Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. “I am lonely. 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. “So she must have had you fairly young, right?” Lucy nodded again.
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