On the way home he was still thoughtful. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell. " "No," cried the lady, "this room—I recollect—it has a back window. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland.
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