She could not move. ” The dinner was admirable as a dinner; nothing went wrong, from the golden and excellent clear soup to the delightful iced marrons and cream; and Miss Stanley’s praises died away to an appreciative acquiescence. And it filled seven sheets of notepaper, each written only on one side. Her faculties seemed for a moment numbed. 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. “You too sing?” he asked. He parried without apparent effort. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock.
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