The chestnut trees in the Abbey-yard were budding green: there came that faint, sweet sound of children at play, which one hears as the days begin to lengthen.
"It's a lovely evening," he said.
"John!" I looked him in the face.

He could not palm off that kind deceit upon me.

"You have heard something about her ?" "I have," he groaned.

"She is leaving Norton Bury." "Thank God!" I muttered.
John turned fiercely upon me--but only for a moment.

"Perhaps I too ought to say, 'Thank God.' This could not have lasted long, or it would have made me--what I pray His mercy to save me from, or to let me die.