“Who are you?” She asked innocently. . She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. I like you very much, I haven’t known you enough to love you, no matter how worthy you are of love. But we smirk a little, I’m afraid, habitually when we talk to you. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village.
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