” There was never any shortage of bad men to eat, especially with pestilence and superstition to cover their tracks. She knew very well that a new thing was stirring in her. 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. ” “Has my sister been unkind to you?” “The family,” he declared, “has not treated me with consideration. She heard their feet and muffled voices. He spent the evening telling her stories of Greece as she sat in front of a roaring fire. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her.
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