And her kind of love forgives everything and anything but infidelity. 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 shifted again. She looked in the rear-view mirror. Don’t be late if you can help it. There is the key.
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