She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. But your cracked skull is by no means a pleasing spectacle. Nothing stronger than water has passed my lips for years. But ere the words could find utterance, her maternal tenderness overcame her indignation; and, sinking upon her knees, she extended her arms over her child. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered.
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