When they were going home she asked her mother why she and Gwen and Alice had cried. A note of belligerency had crept into his tone. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. “I love you, Anna, and I want you for my wife. And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room. "Where is it?" "Are you the mother of this child?" inquired the person who had first spoken, addressing Mrs.
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