She finished the olive and looked up. 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. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www. ‘Kill him? Oh.
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