“Was he really?” She asked, waiting on baited breath. Her clock had stopped—stopped at the very hour on which she had quitted the Mint! She had not the heart to wind it up again. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. ” She became aware of her aunt, through the panes of the greenhouse, advancing with an air of serene unconsciousness from among the raspberry canes.
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