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. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. I wished to control the weather, to possess infinite wealth, and to understand the substances of the earth. ” She smiled at him.
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