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I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. . ‘Yes, but quite my own fault. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. “I haven’t seen the new Patience, dear,” she said. If you do not find your aunt, my people will take you under wing until you can stand on your own. After the twins were past the toddling age, Clotilde finally caught on when the children cleaved to Lucia’s breast when it was time to leave for a fortnight abroad. There was no answer. I freely forgive you.
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