You are restless, aggressive, critical with all the crude unthinking criticism of youth. 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. "Slip on the handcuffs," cried the thief-taker. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand.
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