And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me. . It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the threshold of what they now called his study. It will be hot work, but it must be done at once.
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