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. Very intelligent, by the looks of the books she was carrying. While this was effected, intelligence was brought that a formidable mob was pouring down Field Lane, the end of which was barricaded.
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