Something has changed her tremendously. 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. Andrew's church, the bell of which was tolling, was covered with spectators. There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning. ‘But if you must fight so furiously, I don’t see how I can promise not to do it again. Let me lie in Willesden churchyard. If I let you believe I did not love you, and they found me, your shame would be negligible.
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