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. The captain saw it too and nodded at the boy. “This is mere nonsense, mere tongue-tied fear!” she said. I don’t know. “Vee!” said Miss Stanley, “you hear what your father says!” Miss Stanley struggled with emotion. Committing him to the custody of the others, Blueskin, followed by a numerous band, darted in that direction.
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