And there was another matter. He was out of breath, and spoke in broken sentences. But leave me here in my home, child, I will disintegrate if I am exposed. The whole place had come to life, the magic seeped out of the walls. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. The air, perfumed with the delicious fragrance of the new-mown grass, was vocal with the melodies of the birds; the thick foliage of the trees was glistening in the sunshine; all nature seemed happy and rejoicing; but, above all, the serene Sabbath stillness reigning around communicated a calm to her wounded spirit.
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