She began to miss him when he was gone during the day and cherish the quiet times he spent only with her. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. David Courtlaw. ” She rose up. You know—I worship you. But ere the words could find utterance, her maternal tenderness overcame her indignation; and, sinking upon her knees, she extended her arms over her child. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. ‘Pray you, do me this one little service, and do not ask me why. ” She lingered over her tea, and glancing around, a sudden reflection on the change in her surroundings from the scene of her last night’s supper brought a faint, humorous smile to her lips. "Our talking will not bother him.
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