“Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything. 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 wrote it down. She was as lovely in the spirit as in the flesh.
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