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f inexperience is over your eyes;” he answered; “and you see it through a charmed medium: you cannot discern that the gilding is slime and the silk draperies cobwebs; that the marble is sordid slate; and the polished woods mere refuse chips and scaly bark。 Now here” (he pointed to the leafy enclosure we had entered) “all is real; sweet; and pure。”
He strayed down a walk edged with box; with apple trees; pear trees; and cherry trees on one side; and a border on the other full of all sorts of old…fashioned flowers; stocks; sweet…williams; primroses; pansies; mingled with southernwood; sweet…briar; and various fragrant herbs。 They were fresh now as a succession of April showers and gleams; followed by a lovely spring morning; could make them: the sun was just entering the dappled east; and his light illumined the wreathed and dewy orchard trees and shone do。
“Jane; will you have a flower?”
He gathered a half…blown rose; the first on the bush; and offered it to me。
“Thank you; sir。”
“Do you like this sunrise; Jane? That sky with its high and light clouds which are sure to melt away as the day waxes warm—this placid and balmly atmosphere?”
“I do; very much。”
“You have passed a strange night; Jane。”
“Yes; sir。”
“And it has made you look pale—were you afraid when I left you alone with Mason?”
“I was afraid of some one ing out of the inner room。”
“But I had fastened the door—I had the key in my pocket: I sho
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