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But out of a belated regard for her father she wrote the surname of some one else. He spoke in quick nervous sentences. " "Mr. E below. I would like to talk to you about this—soon. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. 2. She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. “Only four spoonsful left,” she declared briskly, “and your turn to buy the next pound, Sydney.
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