“They are full of the usual foolish stories. My son went down after his death. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor.
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