” “It certainly was,” she admitted. 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. “I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell.
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