We men are like children. It’s my choice, Lucy. 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. ’ Shock ripped through Charvill’s chest. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Corporation. Miss Charvill. It was the blood she found that cemented her decision that her foster daughter was a criminal.
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