I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. We’ll be somewhere on the floor above. Then she stood up and looked around the room. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. XII JACK SHEPPARD A Romance BY W. They both listened intently.
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