The Story of the Next Hour

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The Story of the Next Hour

I

t was Richards who had conversed with the doctors and, in veiled hints that                                 revealed in half concealing, informed the others as to the heartbreaking truth of the tragedy. It was he too who dealt with the necessary arrangements for the body whilst          the remainder of the house was engulfed in a storm of grief.

With a paralysed inability to accept its significance, Brently sunk into the depths of the roomy armchair that stood facing the open window. With his face masked by his cupped hands he remained there, screening from the view of Josephine the vast sea of tears that overwhelmed his face, lest it distressed her further.

Richards feeling for the vast loss of his dear friend, put his arm about his shoulder as if to try and ease away the pain that had woven itself to him. However he was instructed by Brently of his need to be left in solitude and with that he retired from the room. Pressed down with physical exhaustion, he hauled his burden away up the stairs towards the only room in the house where Louise’s presence lived on as strong as ever.

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On seeing this, Josephine also took to her feet and fled from the house with a sudden wild abandonment after being caught up in the event of the last two hours.

Louise had once been an elixir of life to Brently. He had lived for her and had idolised her every move with admiration. As he passed her body on his way to their room, his sanctuary, he was struck dumb with how life like her delicate body looked. Her cheeks still bloomed as they had done the day she had agreed to marry him, blushing with the ...

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