That's well. 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. “I can only be a few years older than you, and I have been married four years. " "Anything like that?" "Yes; but the colour is lavender. Her mind went on generalizing. The houses overhung in a frightful manner, and looked as if the next gust would precipitate them into the river. Thank you for walking me home the other day. Never really thought about Him—people don’t.
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