She could think of nothing more to say. Thank you for the books. I—I hurt myself. Come. I’ll have it out with him. Anna found herself next Sydney Courtlaw, with his friend close at hand. 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. What's the idea of the black border?" "My father recently died, sir. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling.
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