She had begun alone. Peste, but everything had become difficult. 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. Or else—Else it will be impossible that I can be his friend. It was owing to the untimely end of this poor fellow that Mrs.
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