Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself thoughtfully. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. Once over the iron spikes, Bess exhibited no reluctance to be let down on the other side of the wall. They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug.
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