’ ‘I’m afraid you are right. Someone had thoughtfully wrapped a bit of tissue paper round the electric bulb. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter. She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. One she entered and met with a sharp rebuff, which she appeared to receive unmoved. “Let’s go in here.
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