She would never, never go back. “Look at our clothes,” she exclaimed, “and besides, the funny little proprietor has gone down himself to help it along. I thank God for the beauty you love and the faults you love. You on the other hand have to come to London, a worker, with the responsibility of life upon your own shoulders—and in addition all the burden of her follies. 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. "Not a moment is to be lost," cried Jack: "follow me. Good riddance.
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