“That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. Quilt Arnold was stationed at the stair-head, near which the boat containing the captive boy was moored. She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. The wall of the sky, the wall of the horizon, the wall behind which each human being hid—the wall behind which she herself was hiding! If only her mother had lived, her darling mother! Presently the unhappy puzzlement left her face; and an inward glow began to lighten it. .
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