They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. ‘Ah, grandpére. “May I sit beside you?” “It’s a very difficult one,” said her aunt. It would put the whole adventure on a broader and better footing; it seemed, indeed, almost the only possible way in which she might emerge from her rebellion with anything like success. You called yourself a murderess. Neither you nor your mother shall escape me.
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