Most of you Americans pattern all Chinese upon those who fill a little corner in New York. "Mother—dear mother!" said Jack, bursting into tears. An enormous poster almost covered one side of the wall—the poster. It was really most vivid, most vivid! You seemed to be slipping and just going to tumble and holding on. Answering him was agonizing. It was a “territory” back then, and many a Frenchman and a Redskin both had been devoured in those caves. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford.
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