” He put his head on one side, pulled down the corners of his mouth, and looked at her over his glasses. . ” “She has chances?” he said, helping her out. I shall find him yet. She—She can snub him. I guess those books are okay because they are fiction. 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.
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