‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. “Is that okay with you? To go down to the station with him?” “I’ll go with him, Larry. ” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity. He had the appearance of a man who has known no rest for many nights. 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. The spinsters were not kind; they were only curious because she was odd and wore a dress thirty years out of date. Manning, “they’re a dream. ” She stopped short.
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