‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. In the grate were some charred fragments of a marriage certificate. Very well, then. My mother really wants to meet you. Very well. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian.
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