Your mother, for instance, couldn’t. Some had the dignity and the aloofness of a rock in the sea; and others were as the polished pebbles on the sands—one saw the difference of pebble from pebble only by close scrutiny. The touch of her hands was pleasurable. What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring.
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