She married my Dad in a small ceremony down at City Hall. A deadlock. She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth and unlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. That’s really why we do them sometimes rather well and get on. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. Not like my father. She was pleased and a little flattered by his interest and sympathy.
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