Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. I sometimes laid away my father's clothes in his trunk. "As long as I live, I'll never forget that dress of hers," Prudence declared. Back, that you may be close together. She went into shock. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget.
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