That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. 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. "We'll do it. " Spurlock smiled at the doctor.
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