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. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. “What you have done. “The smallest will do for me quite well.
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