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. There was a girlfriend who was mentally ill. And you need not fear that I shall not give back the sword when I have finished using it. I will not be sent away. “Great, Cathy.
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