It was my destiny to have 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. Marvel, who, as he had helped to deprive her of her former husbands, thought himself in duty bound to offer to supply their place. “I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself. The wounded man had descended the bridge, and dashed himself against the door beyond it; but, finding it impossible to force his way further, he turned to confront his assailants. There was a gentle rustling of skirts. She had become unashamed of her nudity, altogether unfocused on her appearance.
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