I was orphaned a long time ago. It was the first expression of the mother's blood. 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. " Some innate sense of balance told her that something was wrong with these tales.
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