"Did you ever see the like of her?" "No," answered McClintock, gravely. How fortunate that she recognises the resemblance. "Mr. You think you will. 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. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. Her fingers rested upon his.
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