There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. My son went down after his death. Not wisely but too well. The priceless things were gathered, the belongings packed. " Romance! The Seven Seas are hers. . . "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. He rose deliberately to his feet and confronted them.
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