She bent down. 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. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially. “An annuity—a sum of money paid to you yearly or quarterly through my solicitors, and which you can consider as a gift from your sister.
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