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. ‘I do not know him. Sydney sprang up. But she does not resemble you in any other way. I consider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. Then he went on: “—and, indeed, to most of the established things in life is, frankly, unsatisfactory. “I couldn’t help it. She had never said anything so horrible to anyone in her life. You notice that I have recently spent ten francs on a box of the best Russian cigarettes, and that there are roses upon my table. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. "Will that do?" he added, returning it. “It makes me feel,” he said, “that nothing is impossible—to have you here beside me. ” Anna disappeared, but Ennison did not trouble either the cigarettes or the magazines.
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