In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. Her impressions of this cardinal ceremony were rich and confused, complicated by a quite transitory passion that awakened no reciprocal fire for a fat curly headed cousin in black velveteen and a lace collar, who assisted as a page. People sat in unusual pews, and a wide margin of hassocky emptiness intervened between the ceremony and the walls. As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. Ramage. They either ran to see or ran for shelter. Her wedding gown! She wondered if the spirit of the unknown mother looked down upon her.
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