" "And never should again, were he mine," rejoined Jonathan. She made no attempt to answer her sister’s question. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. ‘Monstrously unfair of you, Hilary. 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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