She had neither the semi-boisterousness of the average American girl nor the chilling insolence of the English. ‘It is to say goodbye, you understand. 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. Applying his ear to the keyhole, Jack listened, but could detect no sound. The militia were in already. I freely forgive you.
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