They then entered the room, which was perfectly dark. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. He kissed her at the door. The boiling under her stern, however, told him nothing. They order me to get my man, and I get him. 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. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun.
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