The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. I wonder what it was. “Suppose, for example, I go to this dance?” “You won’t. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. " "No. He changed his mind however, and simply motioned to her to proceed.
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