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. ” Lucy answered, disturbed at how rehearsed the apology sounded. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. ’ ‘Oh, a ruin,’ exclaimed Mrs Sindlesham, throwing up a hand. "Ah! Terry O'Flaherty!" vociferated Jonathan, in a tone that betrayed hot the slightest discomposure.
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