The tears were welling over now, but her voice was steady. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. Somehow. He glanced up at the coachman. Manning loomed up ever and again into her world, full of a futile solicitude, and almost always declaring she was splendid, splendid, and wishing he could talk things out with her.
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