” She shook her head. 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. The miserable woman staggered, uttered a deep groan, and fell senseless on the straw. She went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste. “I thought that I heard a groan,” Anna whispered. ” Anna stopped in front of her. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. Perhaps you will meet him someday.
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