“Bother!” and decided that this was not so, and would not look to right or left again. 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. She felt very awkward as she stared at 103 the top of his ashen hair.
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