The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. "They shall not harm you, my love!" she exclaimed. “You look more like your old self when you smile,” he remarked. That is what my mother used to call me. "But, let that pass. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. It made me wake up, and there I lay thinking of you, spending your nights up here all alone, and no one to look after you.
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