As it happens sometimes, the idea stepped down from the dream into the reality; and he saw it more clearly now than he had seen it in the dream. He sent me flowers. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died. And there arose too, a background of shouts. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. "No matter," replied Sheppard.
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