Neither of them believed me. "Evidently he could not destroy these children of his. ’ Tears glistened in her eyes. That “entirely English” comment was said just to provoke me. “Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. Do you know the story of Orpheus? He was a musician who followed his damned wife into Hell to bring her back? He was one of us, I believe. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel.
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