" A detective. A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. The impassivity of her features changed at last. I suppose if one were to love some one, one would feel doubtful. “No, you didn’t. "You've hit it," answered Sheppard.
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