"Begone! or I fire!" he cried. ” She said. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. 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. As soon as he finished a sheet, he tossed it aside and began another.
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