She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. . Oh dear!—oh dear! Be careful of him," she added to her husband, "and get it over quickly, or never expect to see me again. 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. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled.
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