You knew me in Paris. Sheppard, distractedly. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. There was a confused impression of livery carriages and whips with white favors, people fussily wanting other people to get in before them, and then the church. So absorbed was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear—"Mother!" She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her, screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms. She wore a wonderful dress of turquoise blue, made by a great dressmaker for a function which she knew very well now that she would never attend.
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