McClintock's initial revulsion was natural; he was an honest man. 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. “And aren’t there fees to pay at the Imperial College?” her aunt was saying—a disagreeable question. Please sit down, Miss —dear me, I haven’t asked you your name yet. The area was sparsely populated.
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