“They would spoil every chance. You are just necessary to life for me. “I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?. . ’ ‘Poor sort of a mother,’ Martha said with bitterness. Until at last I persuaded him to go to bed. "I understand," she said. “The smallest will do for me quite well. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that.
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