The petals have fallen—the red petals we loved so. "My father!" she whispered. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. Still no sound. Um. Ireton," cried Jack, in accents of the most urgent entreaty, "before you take me hence, I implore you—if you would further the ends of justice—search this house. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. Mrs. Only au revoir. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything.
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