“It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. ‘Why, you have heard yourself all that is being said. ” He said admiringly. Perhaps it was the recollection of those happy days. This is part of a dream— some evil fancy. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. My father died a year ago, by the way.
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