"Oh! that was all, was it?" said the turnkey, quietly reseating himself. Morgan the trader did not haggle over the pearls, but gave me at once what he judged a fair price. 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. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. Ruth and Spurlock separated, the one embarrassed, the other utterly dumfounded.
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