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. Breakfast, too, was an impossible occasion. "I don't know his name. From then on he was Ruth's dog. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. His face turned a dark crimson.
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