The day was sunny and pleasant, devoid of chill winds. We shall take an eternal farewell of each other. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. He must know she’ll be at a convent. “You have put all your life in my hands,” he declared.
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