I will always think of you with fondness, no matter what. But you’ve got to lend me forty pounds. “But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to. “I want my life to be beaten gold just in order to make it a fitting setting for yours. 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. Shoplatch.
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