She covered her
face with her hands and tried to recall herself.
Mrs. Randolph gently tapped her shoulder with a mixture of maternal
philosophy and discipline, and continued: "Of course, it's an upset--and
you're confused still. That's nothing. They say, dear, it's perfectly
well known that no two people's recollections of these things ever are
the same. It's really ridiculous the contradictory stories one hears.
Isn't it, Emile?"
Rose felt that the young man had joined them and was looking at her. In
the fear that she should still see some trace of the startled, selfish
animal in his face, she did not dare to raise her eyes to his, but
looked at his mother. Mrs. Randolph was standing then, collected but
impatient.
"It's all over now," said Emile, in his usual voice, "and except the
chimneys and some fallen plaster there's really no damage done. But
I'm afraid they have caught it pretty badly at the mission, and at San
Francisco in those tall, flashy, rattle-trap buildings they're putting
up.
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