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. “He has asked to see some one,” he whispered to the doctor. ” “My wife was astounded—wounded beyond measure. Fruit trees had been brought all the way from India so their product could be laden on the wedding table, fruits with exotic shapes and haunting flavors ended the meal, cleansing the palate. She did not know herself. “You are coming my way,” Courtlaw answered. Monroe would go to work and Mrs.
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