’ A wary look came over her face, and Roding intervened. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. 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. Anything else that was said she now regarded only as an aspect of or diversion from that. "I am happy—quite happy now. ‘The major will tell you when to stop. The tears flowed faster. Ramage,” she said, clinging to her one point, “I want to get out of this horrible little room.
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