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. In fact, Kimble was drowsily awake when she entered the little bedchamber, the state of which left a good deal to be desired, even without the added debris arising from tending a wounded man. I would like to have to tell it so. He must preserve it, however, as they preserved the Ark of the Covenant. “When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. But she could see that Diane watched her more closely now, and in a cat-like way. “I wish they did,” he said, “but they don’t.
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