He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide. ‘But what way, Emile?’ ‘Your family, mademoiselle, the family of your father. The dress was her mother's, and she was wearing it to save a little extra money. Look at me. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. The mighty concourse became for a moment still.
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