But her words were not addressed to Melusine. 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. Wood's," was the reply. I waited until he was asleep and then I tied him up with some duct tape and some old rope he had in the shed. Funk! I’ll see it out.
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