The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished. Manning, “when I see beautiful things, or else I want to weep. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury.
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