Fifteen from forty is twenty-five. But his grief was of short duration. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. She worried for Cathy, working double shifts at the nearby family restaurant to help make ends meet.
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