She simply refuses to see or hear from me again. 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. “Second class,” said some one, but first and second were all alike to her. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words.
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