“My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. I guess.
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