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. To-morrow morning I shall have made up my mind what to do. She felt she had to go on. "Do you want it back under the pillow?" "Hang it over a chair. "I've been always true to you.
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