And, now, to find a messenger. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. . Do not disquiet yourself. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. Miss Mary to the life, I said, and so she is. I know faces. It was easy for him to see that she desired to be agreeable to him. 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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