I care not. 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. ToC Ascending a short flight of steps, Jack found at the summit a door, which being bolted in the inside he speedily opened. "Going to befuddle himself between now and dinner," was the comment of Prudence. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. .
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