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Reed, Myrtle, 1874-1911

"Old Rose and Silver"

"
"I hope it won't take too long to make my clothes," answered Isabel,
irrelevantly. "He says I must be ready by September."
"Then we must begin immediately. Write out everything you think of, and
afterward we'll go over the list together. Come into the library and
begin now. There's no time like the present."
"Do you think," Isabel inquired as she seated herself at the library
table, "that I will have many presents?"
"Probably," answered Madame, briefly. "I'll come back when you've
finished your list."
She went up-stairs and knocked gently at the door of Rose's room,
feeling very much as she did the day she went to Colonel Kent to tell
him that the little mother of his new-born son was dead. Rose herself
opened the door, somewhat surprised.
Madame went in, closed the door, then stood there for a moment, at a
loss for words.
"Has it come?" asked Rose, in a low voice.
"Yes. Oh, Rose, my dear Rose!"
She put her arm around the younger woman and led her to the couch. Every
hint of colour faded from Rose's face; her eyes were wide and staring,
her lips scarcely pink.


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