As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. ” He turned to the waiter, who held a wine-card. All at once he saw a way out of the threatening doldrums. Oh, and weeks and months of thought and feeling there are bottled up too. Where is Father Spencer? I must have absolution.
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