The terrific mental tension of the past few months —that had held his bodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation—became as a dream; and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air. She pulled away from him, placing her fingers on his lips for a moment. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man’s shoulder. He was an imaginative young man. “It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked.
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