I might utter a million, and still I doubt if I could make you understand. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. ” “Why can’t you take me with you?” He begged. 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. “Have you ever been to the opera, Ann Veronica?” said Ramage.
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