She felt her own body stir, ready for more. It is she that I must see. 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. Sebastian spotted her among them instantly. ’ ‘Assuredly there are many escaping from France at this time. But since you assure me you didn't write the letters, and Mr. . .
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