Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. He reached for her chin and lifted it up. “But, you see, appearances are very much against me. 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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