“Don’t think that I have been playing the spy upon you,” he continued. He went more easily this time. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. The asylum was approached by a broad gravel walk, leading through a garden edged on either side by a stone balustrade, and shaded by tufted trees. I may add that the family is well known to me. Her eyes were lit with a gleam of humour. She parted the curtains to find him standing there.
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