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Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. “Confound sex from first to last!” said Ann Veronica. Once before—but that had been different. She did not forge a note. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. “I knew Mr. ” Annabel laughed hardly. Griffin. They even talked about friendship. ” Lucy commented, dismayed. . The tears were welling over now, but her voice was steady. “I go to private school right now. Mrs.
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