\" Mark was tall and skinny, a mop of brown hair over a pillar of freckles. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. Were you born here, madame?’ ‘Mais non. They trudged along a little hungry, because of the fruitarian refreshments, and mentally very active. He stopped in mid-sentence, and Ann Veronica opened the door for her aunt. A sudden knock at the door startled her. 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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