The asylum was approached by a broad gravel walk, leading through a garden edged on either side by a stone balustrade, and shaded by tufted trees. ‘You will have to prove it, you know,’ Gerald said quietly. Paris copies London. Could she understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class carriage and the ordinary fellowtravellers were not there. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. The Higher Life and the Lower.
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