Her fingers rested upon his. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. "That we were afraid," replied the other; "but never mind 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.
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