I’m sorry I ruined dinner. ‘Oh, my God, she’s gone!’ Wrenching his hand from his friend’s slackened grasp, he darted for the door, Roding behind him. By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers.
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