There she would wander about in the kindly darkness. Their small talk continued. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. He would advise you how to get rid of the fellow. Kneebone will excuse you. Sensitive, aren’t they?” She chuckled. You have betrayed me. We'll have him yet.
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