There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. 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. “She finds lying up so much very irksome. Recollect, he's chained to the ground by a great horse-padlock, and is never unloosed except when he comes to that hatch. ‘Melusine, don’t sit there. White assured her. Every care had been taken of it, as well as of himself, by the humane inmates of the house in which he had sought shelter. ’ ‘I imagine it must be a relief to you, after so lucky an escape.
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