But she had found it very difficult. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. “The rest,” she said, holding tightly to his hands, “is the most important of all. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. ‘Exactly like my father. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. "Who are you?" inquired Mrs. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter.
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