Book. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. "What's the matter?" demanded Jonathan, harshly. Anna stood on the step and looked up and down the street for a hansom. 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 like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal.
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