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Maxwell, W. B., 1866-1938

"The Devil's Garden"

When her work itself made her smile, all the
intellectual expression seemed to go out of her face, and it really
expressed nothing but a blankly unthinking ecstasy, whereas her smile
at her husband just now had shown shrewd understanding, as well as
immense kindness. In fact, at such moments, only the outer case of
Mavis Dale remained in the snug little room, while the inward best
part of her had gone on a very long journey. She could not now see the
man with his book, or the walls of the room; the lamp had begun to
shine with ineffable radiance; and she was temporarily a sewing-woman
in paradise, stitching the ornamental flounces for dreams of glory.
Her baby, a girl, was born at the end of June, exactly three-quarters
of a year from the beginning of their new existence. The mother had
what is called a bad time, and was slow to recover strength.
Nevertheless, she was able to suckle the infant, who did well from its
birth and throve rapidly.
It was during the convalescent stage, one evening when he had come up
to sit by her bedside, that Dale told her they had at last turned the
corner.
"Yes," he said, "orders are dropping in nicely. We're getting back all
the good customers that slipped away from me, and some bettermost
ones--such as the Hunt stables--that Mr.


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