" "But, my love," still remonstrated Wood, "you know I'm going to look after the boys——" "After Mrs. Nobody can trust you. 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. But what are you doing here?” “Old Père Runeval met me on your doorstep, and he would not let me go. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone.
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