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The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. Sheppard; "but I love you next to her, and both of you better than Her," pointing with the pipe to his mother.
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