Mrs. ” She replied with a rehearsed answer, “I was told that my real mother died the day I was born. I guess. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. ‘I am fascinated. A fortnight passed, then a month. She became eager to explain herself, to show herself in the right light. ” “You are not a coward,” she repeated, “or you would not be my friend. He barely shook the rose petals from her hair. . "Allow him that small grace," cried Wood.
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