"Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. “You do not quite understand,” she said gently. He could not contain his satisfaction, but chuckled, and rubbed his hands with delight. She closed her eyes more vividly to recall some line which had carried the blot. I don't care how soon he learns that he has lost his adopted son. 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. She was still good at following orders. She'll be mighty interesting to watch. What you said wanted saying. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you.
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