And yet, as she rose slowly to her feet and stood looking at him with outstretched hands, a strange mixture of expressions shining in her wonderful eyes, he realized in some measure the strength of her determination, felt the utter impotence of anything which he could say to her. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. On the fifth day he had ventured speech with her. “You poor thing. ‘But it is entirely myself,’ she exclaimed aloud.
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