She was correct, and when I went directly to the street she had named, there you were, walking into the Butcher Shop. But a man is a mixed creature. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. ‘And I trust you will pardon my inadequacies. Only now it does not matter at all because Joan has come and has seen me.
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