“Thank you—for coming,” he said. 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 stole his chance and thrust his hand towards hers. “There ought to be some means of getting at him,” he said.
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