" "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. Good riddance. “Mr. She gave her lips to his without resistance. “Oh, please. I shall not part with you again. Once she had asked him: "Are you my father?" He had answered: "I am.
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