Then he turned to Anna. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. “She wasn’t sane, my wife. She had lost her sense of direction, and was among unfamiliar streets. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. Everybody, he felt, must be listening behind their papers. “But your hair,” he gasped. He could have her in the car but she preferred a more private setting. Move.
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