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. He was a large oafish man, a man that seemed deceptively harmless, and some thought him slightly retarded. “My name,” Anna replied calmly, “is certainly Pellissier, but I repeat that I do not know you. ” “She does. ” She became aware of her aunt, through the panes of the greenhouse, advancing with an air of serene unconsciousness from among the raspberry canes. No, none at all.
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