She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. She disengaged her hands and stood up. Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes. ‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me. ’ The lady stamped her foot.
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