. . ” Anna shook hands with Brendon—a young man also, but older and more selfpossessed than Sydney Courtlaw. They can’t help seeing things in the way they do. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. I overheard them planning your assassination. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets.
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