Her sporting sons, Harold Stirling and William Kissam II, were in the southern U. S., but her daughter Consuelo, one-time pawn of her most amazing social gambit, was there. Outside in the Rue Monsieur the dove-colored Paris dawn was brightening. The old lady, appearing to suffer no pain, lay comatose. But on her square, wide-mouthed face there was a look of concentration, as though, desperately pressed for time, she must reconsider, revalue the countless acts and decisions of her extraordinary lifetime. Suddenly, at 6:50 a. m., her features relaxed. . . ....
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