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. God knows how you did it. Marina had retired to bed, drinking wine slowly, sleeping when she was not drinking. She was vaguely happy over this arrangement which put her in the wing across the middle hall, alone. She flew up the covered stairs and knocked upon his door. '—'No fear o' that,' thought I. "Because it's not like you," was her answer. He's worth a dozen of you. ” She nodded. ‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir.
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