So she built a shrine. She went further: she doubted that he was fully conscious of where he was. “I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself. ” She propped herself up on the massive oaken post of the bed, feeling the paralysis tingle her legs as it left them ever so slowly. 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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