“You go home,” he said, at parting; “you go home. He had invited himself to dine with her merely to watch her table manners. When she spoke, her lips twitched. But then he began to take steps, and, at last, strides to something more and more like predominance. “It’s like Troy!” said a voice of rapture. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered.
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