” Part 9 She was sitting brooding over her fire about ten o’clock that night when a sealed and registered envelope was brought up to her. She was ashamed of herself for the simple gladness she felt wash over her as the infant’s screams ended. The effects of the heroin wore off slowly. 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. . “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. She was new, unlike any other woman he had met in all his wide travel. Lights glimmered in the windows of the different houses; and a lamp-lighter was running from post to post on his way to Snow Hill. To the Seven Cities of Refuge Jack proceeded. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. “You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him.
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