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. She felt much better. "Oh God! how fearfully my father is avenged!" "True," replied Jack, sternly; "but we have our uncle to avenge. On the same peg and evidently belonging to it was a black velvet Zouave jacket. And it is your own fault that your husband dallies with me. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. ‘I try to be.
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