" "Humph!" ejaculated the carpenter. His fatigue was tacitly understood within the family; it was a phenomenon which everyone acknowledged as related to the trades. 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. It had showed up at an auction at Sotheby’s after someone had sold it.
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