” Courtlaw laid his hand upon Ennison’s shoulder. He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine. “It’s Ennison, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. 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.
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