“You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. You have never seen the child within your arms perishing from hunger, and no relief to be obtained. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. I have discovered something of her background.
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