“You could have a talk to Miss Kitty Brett this afternoon, if you liked. Put out your hand and bid me God-speed. Is this man Hill dead?” She shook her head. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher.
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