"Molly, Molly," gulped Billy, "I am so ill I'm going to die here on the floor," and he sank into my arms.,
"No. I thought so at first, but one of the servants who brought me a cup of tea late at night told me that Dido had gone to your house to offer her services in laying out the body of my dear Maurice.",
Yes, the word "trousseau" ought to have a definite surname after it always, and that's why my loyalty dragged poor Mr. Carter out into the light of my conscience. The thinking of him had a strange effect on me. I had laid out the dream in dark grey-blue cloth, tailored almost beyond endurance, to wear in the train going home, and had thrown the old black silk bag across the chair to give to the hotel maid, but the decision of the session between conscience and loyalty made me pack the precious blue wonder and put on once more the black rags of remembrance in a kind of panic of respect..
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