When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. ‘Went to the dogs, did Jarvis, after Mary died. But you need not fear,’ she added, shaking him off. She did not know herself. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy.
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