We can be married tomorrow in Paris. Don't build your hopes too high; but I will do what I can. But after all, Mrs. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. ’ ‘Precisely. We’ll go. I'll cable to-night, and in a few days we'll have some news. 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. To recreate the era, I deliberately tried to avoid creating a thinly disguised bodice ripper where an “empowered” woman mouthed off to prospective suitors in jerkins and tights, in other words, a typical romance novel. "Well, good night, Mr.
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