Consecrate it with her steadfastness, her devotion.
She thought it ended.

But yet she sat there motionless.
What was plucking at her sleeve--still holding her?
Unknowing, she had entered a small garden.

It formed a passage between two streets, and was left open day and night.

It was but a narrow strip of rank grass and withered shrubs with an asphalte pathway widening to a circle in the centre, where stood a gas lamp and two seats, facing one another.
And suddenly it came to her that this was her Garden of Gethsemane; and a dull laugh broke from her that she could not help.

It was such a ridiculous apology for Gethsemane.