"Heaven be praised she knows me at last. If you can’t see as how there ain’t nothing in this barrack of a place to help me do the job, I can. ‘Alors, I see it. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. 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. ‘Where did you get that, miss?’ ‘It is the sword of monsieur le major.
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