" "Anything, my dear," replied Wood, "What is it?" "Bury us together in one grave in Willesden churchyard. ’ ‘Of course I am, imbecile,’ she snapped, unconsciously echoing her greatniece. ’ ‘Was it?’ Her lips twitched. And ever after it struck him that her backward smile as she disappeared was charged with some special significance. ‘I wish you joy of the wench. . “Don’t!” cried Ann Veronica, struggling faintly, and he released her. 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. \"Well, to tell you the truth, John Diedermayer.
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