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inattentive that morning, recalling what I could of the beautiful
strange people I should presently see again. Oddly enough I had no
doubt in my mind that they would be glad to see me . . . Yes, I
must have thought of the garden that morning just as a jolly sort
of place to which one might resort in the interludes of a strenuous
scholastic career.
"I didn't go that day at all. The next day was a half
holiday, and that may have weighed with me. Perhaps, too, my state
of inattention brought down impositions upon me and docked the
margin of time necessary for the detour. I don't know. What I do
know is that in the meantime the enchanted garden was so much upon
my mind that I could not keep it to myself.
"I told--What was his name?--a ferrety-looking youngster we
used to call Squiff."
"Young Hopkins," said I.
"
Hopkins it was. I did not like telling him, I had a feeling
that in some way it was against the rules to tell him, but I did.
He was walking part of the way home with me; he was talkative, and
if we had not talked about the enchanted garden we should have
talked of something else, and it was intolerable to me to think
about any other subject. So I blabbed.
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