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. ’ ‘You mean I need not have said it? Damnation. I’m sorry to hurt your feelings. On that night, I surrendered myself to Jonathan Wild, and became— what I am. Had he found the secret door? Running to the centre, she tried to judge where the knocking came from. ‘And that object confirms me in the belief that it is not I who will shortly meet my maker.
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