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long, curving main street of the little harbour town looked very bright and clean. Half the houses seemed to have been just freshly painted; some were yellow, some white, and most of the roofs were red. There had been a little spring shower, too, and now the wet asphalt of the side-walk shone nearly as blue as the bright, new-washen sky, and the heart-shaped lilac-leaves in the little garden beside the shop were tossing in soft, moist airs, and glittering with wetness and light. One branch was in flower already, and its plumes of dark, chocolate buds, and blossoms of fresh, pale purple looked almost audaciously young. The old bush that bore it came of stock that had crossed the ocean more than half a century before; but what did this little bough care about that? its blossoms were new this year. As the wind swung it, now it sprang jauntily up towards the sky, now it swept down towards the springing green grass, and now it scattered a whole shower of sparkling rain-diamonds over the crown of Philippe’s rusty black hat, as he passed beneath the lilac-bush and out into the road.

The wife of the man to whom he had last year