Kneebone in a conciliatory tone. It had been a part of the vast domain of the servants in the house’s earlier incarnation. She glanced at the soft-ticking clock with the exposed brass pendulum upon the white marble mantel, and made a rapid calculation. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. Kneebone's 346 XIV.
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