“We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. In the end he broke his own heart along with your mother's. She is in the hall now. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. At this gate two paths meet. 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. No one will ever love you as I love you now. ‘Is there a resemblance?’ ‘This is Mary Remenham?’ ‘That is my late niece, yes. " "O Jack, dear, dear Jack!" cried Mrs. " "I cannot repent,—I cannot pray," replied Jack, recovering his hardened demeanour. ” Miss Miniver’s manner became impressive. Capes agreed with the utmost cordiality. "But, if you are discovered, answer no questions, as you value your life. Kneebone invariably takes part with me, when any trifling misunderstanding arises between us. Wood the best of wives.
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